THE HARPER. On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; No harp like my own could so cheerily play, [nigh When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart) Oh! remember your Sheelah when far, far away; And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he constantly loved me, although I was poor; When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, And he licked me for kindness-my poor dog Tray. 'Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, And I played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind? To my sweet native village, so far, far away, I can never more return with my poor dog Tray SONG. My mind is my kingdom, but if thou wilt deign Then of thoughts and emotions each mutinous crowd, 1 THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. OH! leave this barren spot to me, Thrice twenty summers I have stood And on my trunk's surviving frame HOHENLINDEN. ON Linden, when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Then shook the hills with thunder riv❜n, And redder yet those fires shall glow, "Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Ah! few shall part where many meet! 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! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; And the stormy tempests blow. Shall start from every wave!— For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell III. Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, 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 tempests blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests 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 When the storm has ceased to blow; |