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short, well told in ballad metre, but with epigrammatic rather than poetic effect. Those which are not good of their kind are songs or ballads which Dame Nature seems to have intended for ebullitions, and which probably were so in their birth, but which Stepdame Art has laboured to improve.
For the rest, the complete editions of Campbell's poems, like those of most poets renowned in their day, contain a proportion of juvenile and senile efforts which might have been spared with advantage to the collection as a whole; and the same may be said of certain occasional poems written because they were wanted. Some verses on Marie Antoinette, of no very great merit in themselves, are remarkable in having been written at fifteen years of age. And there is another poem, included in the edition published by Moxon in 1837, which is remarkable amongst Campbell's poems for not being Campbell's. It is Wordsworth's well-known poem beginning
There is a change, and I am poor.'
It is singular that such a misappropriation should have happened when both the poets were still living.
On Linden, when the sun was low,
But Linden saw another sight,
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
But redder yet that light shall glow,
'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Few, few, shall part where many meet!
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. A NAVAL Ode.
Ye Mariners of England
That guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe,
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do1 blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave !—
For the deck it was their field of fame,
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
The earlier editions have while the stormy tempests blow' throughout
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart
When the storm has ceased to blow;
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
Of Nelson and the North
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determin'd hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat
Lay their bulwarks on the brine,
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death,
For a time.
But the might of England flushed
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between
'Hearts of oak,' our captains cried, when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back ;—
Their shots along the deep slowly boom :-
As they strike the shattered sail,
Or in conflagration pale
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave;
'Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save;
So peace instead of death let us bring:
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet
With the crews at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King.'
Then Denmark blest our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief,
From her people wildly rose,
As death withdrew his shades from the day;
While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Now joy, old England, raise
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
While the wine cup shines in light';