I knew not why in slumber How doubt and fear could grow. Till o'er the bounding billow Are white men unrelenting, No refuge for the brave; No more the Heiva's dancing With smiling flowers shall bloom; Nor blossom rich in beauty Shall lend its sweet perfume. All by the sounding ocean Can he forget his Peggy, That soothed his cares to rest? Can he forget the baby That smiles upon her breast? I wish the fearful warning Would bind my woes in sleep! And I were a little bird to chase My lover o'er the deep! Or if my wounded spirit In the death canoe would rove, I'd bribe the wind and pitying wave To speed me to my love! P. M. JAMES. WALCHEREN EXPEDITION; OR, AN ENGLISHMAN'S LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF HIS COUNTRYMEN. YE brave enduring Englishmen, I sing of that black season Which all true hearts deplore, Upon Walcheren's swampy shore. "Twas in the summer's sunshine The Frenchman dropp'd his laughter, In your fame To the dark and swampy shore. But foul delays encompass'd ye, Day and night, Lay still on the swampy shore. In vain your dauntless mariners In vain your soldiers threw their eyes Was doom'd to be no more, Sunk with shame On the dark and swampy shore. Ye died not in the triumphing For full three months and more, Pierced with scorn, Lay at rot on the swampy shore. No ship came o'er to bring relief, No orders came to save; But Death stood there and never stirr'd, They lay down, and they linger'd, Pierced their graves Through the dark and swampy shore. Oh England! Oh my countrymen! To their sleep, Bemoans on the swampy shore. LEIGH HUNT. THE OLDE AND NEW BARONNE*. A BROTHER bard, I trow, who has mickle witte in his pate, [waste were great; Has sung of a worshipful squire, whose means and He lived in golden daies when Elizabeth ruled the state, And kept a noble house at the olde bountiful rate. Like an olde courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier. See the Olde and Young Courtier.-Reliques Anc. Poet. Vol. ii. But, lest our sonnes should say 'past times were better than these,' [reader please, We'll look still further backe, if the courteous A hundred years or twain after William crossed the seas, [and little ease. When our fathers lived, I guesse, in great fear Like olde villaines of their lorde, And their lorde's old villaines. wa', The baronne, proud and fierce, then kept his castle [see nothing at a' From whence, though high and steep, ye could But a danke and dismalle moore, and a wide bridge made to draw [faugh! Over a moate so green, and so stinking, ye cried— Like an old baronne of the lande, And the lande's old baronne. His chambers large and dimme, with gaudy painting dight, But like no earthly thing e'er seen of mortal wight, With chimnies black with smoke, and windows of greate height, That let in store of winde,but marvellous little light. and one, There in a hall so wide, and colde as any stone, He fed, in freezing state, idle fellows a hundred [armour on, With black and bushy beards and bloode red Who, when he gives the worde, to rapine and slaughter are gone. Like an olde baronne of the lande, |