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XLVI.

To the American Flag.-DRAKE and HallecK.

WHEN Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there!
She mingled with its gorgeous dies
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white,
With streakings from the morning light!
Then, from her mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!

Majestic monarch of the cloud!
Who rearest aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumping loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,
When strides the warrior of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven!
Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free-
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war
The harbinger of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high!
When speaks the signal trumpet's tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on,

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Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet-
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn,
To where thy meteor glories burn,
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance!
And when the cannon's mouthings loud,
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall,

Like shoots of flame on midnight pall!
There shall thy victor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall fall beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death!

Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave,
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave.
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
The dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendours fly,
In triumph o'er the closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's only home,
By angel hands to valour given !
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven,
For ever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,

With freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us!

XLVII.

The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger.-ANONY

MOUS.

IN Broad street buildings, on a winter night,
Snug by his parlour fire, a gouty wight
Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing
His leg rolled up in fleecy hose,

While t'other held beneath his nose The Public Leger, in whose columns grubbing,

He noted all the sales of hops,

Ships, shops and slops,

Gum, galls and groceries, ginger, gin,
Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine and tin,
When, lo! a decent personage in black
Entered, and most politely said,—
"Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track
To the King's Head,

And left your door ajar, which I
Observed in passing by,

And thought it neighbourly to give you notice." "Ten thousand thanks-how very few get, In time of danger,

Such kind attentions from a stranger! Assuredly that fellow's throat is Doomed to a final drop at Newgate. He knows too, the unconscionable elf, That there's no soul at home except myself." "Indeed!" replied the stranger, looking

grave

"Then he's a double knave: He knows that rogues and thieves by scores Nightly beset unguarded doors;

And see how easily might one
Of these domestic foes,

Even beneath your very nose,
Perform his knavish tricks,
Enter your room as I have done,
Blow out your candles-thus-and thus-
Pocket your silver candlesticks,

And walk off-thus."

So said, so done-he made no more remark,
Nor waited for replies,

But marched off with his prize,
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.

XLVIII.

The Country Bumpkin and Razor Seller.—WOL

COTT.

A FELLOW, in a market town,

Most musical, cried razors up and down, And offered twelve for eighteen pence; Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap; And, for the money, quite a heap,

As every man would buy, with cash and sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard; Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard,

That seemed a shoe brush stuck beneath his

nose;

With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid, And proudly to himself in whisper said, "This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.

"No matter if the fellow be a knave, Provided that the razors shave;

K*

It certainly will be a monstrous prize."

So home the clown with his good fortune

went,

Smiling, in heart and soul content,

And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered from a dish or tub,

Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub,

Just like a hedger cutting furze :

"Twas a vile razor !-then the rest he triedAll were impostors!"Ah!" Hodge sighed, "I wish my eighteen pence within my purse.'

In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, He cut and dug, and winched, and stamped, and swore,

Brought blood and danced, blasphemed and made wry faces,

And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er.

His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff, Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff; So kept it-laughing at the steel and suds. Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws, Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws,

On the vile cheat that sold the goods.

"Razors !—a vile, confounded dog-
Not fit to scrape a hog!"

Hodge sought the fellow-found him—and
begun,-

"Perhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,

That people flay themselves out of their lives :

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