YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

A NAVAL ODE.

I.

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!

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For the deck it was their field of fame,

And Ocean was their grave:

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,

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Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

III.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.

When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

IV.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!

Our song and feast shall flow

To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;

When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

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BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

I.

OF Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.—

II.

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;

While the sign of battle flew

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;

And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.—

'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried; when each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

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 :--
Then ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

V.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hail'd 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.'—

VI.

Then Denmark blest our chief

That he gave her wounds repose;

TO A SKYLARK.

ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

[To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain, ("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)

Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain :

Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.]

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;

A privacy of glorious light is thine;

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood

Of harmony, with instinct more divine:
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

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