BRITISH LOVE TO AMERICA. Ho! Brother, I'm a Britisher, That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir I know your heart, an open heart,— And shrewd to scheme a likely plan, I tell you, Brother Jonathan, That you and I are one! There may be jealousies and strife, For men have selfish ends, But petty quarrels ginger life, And help to season friends; And pundits who, with solemn scan, That brothers always fight. Two fledgling sparrows in one nest Will chirp about a worm, Then how should eaglets meekly rest, No! while their rustled pinions fan The eyrie's dizzy side, Like you and me, my Jonathan, It's all for Love and Pride! "God save the Queen," delights you still, And "British Grenadiers," The good old strains your heartstrings thrill, And catch you by both ears; And we,-ob, hate us if you can, For we are proud of you, We like you, Brother Jonathan, And "Yankee Doodle" too! There's nothing foreign in your face, No, brother! though away you ran As truant-boys will do, Still true it is, young Jonathan, Time was, it wasn't long ago,— Or tripped to court to kiss Queen Anne, And you and I, good Jonathan, Went with them then, I guess. Together both,-'twas long ago,— Or charging fierce the Paynim foe Together prayed or swore, For John's own Brother Jonathan There lived a man, a man of men, We ne'er shall see his like again, And if we claim him of our clan, For Shakspeare, happy Jonathan, There was another glorious name, A poet for all time, Who gained the double-first of fame, The beautiful-sublime; And let us hide him if we can, More miserly than pelf, Our Yankee brother Jonathan Cries "halves" in Milton's self! Well, well and every praise of old, That makes us famous still, You would be just, and may be bold Since England's glory first began, The half is yours; but, Jonathan, O Brother, could we both be one How gladly would the very sun In either world to lead the van, And go-a-head for good, While earth to John and Jonathan Yields tribute gratitude! Add but your stripes and golden stars To brave St George's cross, And never dream of mutual wars, Two dunces' mutual loss; Let us two bless where others ban, And love when others hate, And so, my cordial Jonathan, We'll fit, I calculate. What more? I touch not holier strings A loftier strain to win ; Nor glance at prophets, priests, and kings, Or heavenly kith or kin. As friend with friend, and man with man, Oh, let our hearts be thus, As David's love to Jonathan, BATTLE OF BALAKLAVA. A.D. 1854. HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade!" Cannon to right of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare, |