ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE THE THIRD. 93 The time-since he walked in his glory thus, A daughter beloved, a queen, a son, For his eyes were sealed, and his mind was dark, Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark His silver beard o'er a bosom spread Still o'er him oblivion's waters lay, Though the stream of life kept flowing; At intervals thus the waves disgorge, A piece of the wreck of the Royal George, He is gone at length-he is laid in the dust, His people's heart is his funeral urn; And should sculptured stone be denied him, HORACE SMITH. Ye Mariners of England. I. E Mariners of England! YE That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again, And sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow While the battle rages loud and long, II. 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 While the stormy winds do blow— And the stormy winds do blow. -III. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-wave, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. THE TWO VOICES. 95 IV. The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow -- And the storm has ceased to blow. THOMAS CAMPBELI. The Two Voices. 'WO voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains—each a mighty voice: In both from age to age thou didst rejoice; They were thy chosen music, Liberty! There came a tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fought'st against him—but hast vainly striven; WILLIAM WORDSWORTH An Ode. HAT constitutes a State? WHAT Not high raised battlement or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate; Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. With powers as far above dull brutes endued As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, And crush the tyrant while they rend the cha'n:- And sovereign Law, that State's collected will, Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. Smit by her sacred frown, The fiend Dissension like a vapor sinks; And e'en the all-dazzling Crown Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! No more shall freedom smile? Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? Since all must life resign, Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 'Tis folly to decline, And steal inglorious to the silent grave! SIR WILLIAM JONES WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. 97 WHI While History's Muse. HILE History's Muse the memorial was keeping Of all that the dark hand of destiny weaves, Beside her the genius of Erin stood weeping, For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, She saw History write, With a pencil of light That illumed all the volume, her Wellington's name. Hail, star of my isle !" said the Spirit, all sparkling With tears, such as break from her own dewy skies— "Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, I've watched for some glory like thine to arise. For, though heroes I've numbered, unblest was their lot, And unhallowed they sleep in the crossways of Fame ;But oh! there is not One dishonoring blot On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's name, "Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, Of her tears and her blood, Let the Rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's name!" THOMAS MOORE, |