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OF Nelson and the orth,
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.-
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.
But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O’er the deadly space between.
Hearts of oak!' our captains cried; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun. —
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.-
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.'-
Then Denmark blest our chief
That he gave her wounds repose ;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,
As death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun look'd smiling bright
O'er a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou :
Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave !-
A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR.
(THE RIVER OF LIFE.]
The more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages :
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals, lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But, as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of death,
Feel we its tide more rapid ?
It may be strange-yet who would change
Time's course to slower speeding;
When one by one our friends have gone,
And left our bosoms bleeding ?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
And those of youth, a seeming length,
Proportioned to their sweetness.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream !-
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.