For

ye

waft me to summers of old,

When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold.

Thomas Campbell.

THE RAINBOW.

TRIUMPHAL arch that fill'st the sky,
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy

To teach me what thou art.

Still seem, as to my childhood's sight,
A mid-way station given

For happy spirits to alight,

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Thomas Campbell.

FAITH.

THIS spirit shall return to Him
Who gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, sun, it shall be dim,
When thou thyself are dark?

No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity,

Who robbed the grave of victory,-
And took the sting from death!

DISTANCE.

Thomas Campbell.

"Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue!

KOSCIUSKO.

Thomas Campbell.

HOPE, for a reason, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell!

Thomas Campbell.

NOT TO DIE.

To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die.

Thomas Campbell.

BRITANNIA.

BRITANNIA needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;

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

Thomas Campbell.

SIN.

BUT, sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.

Thomas Campbell.

THE SUNSET OF LIFE.

'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. Thomas Campbell.

THE SMILE OF APPROVAL.

WITHOUT the smile from partial beauty won,
O what were man ?—a world without a sun.

MEMORY.

Thomas Campbell.

WHILE memory watches o'er the sad review
Of joys that faded like the morning dew,

Thomas Campbell.

ON THE DEATH OF GEORGE III.

I SAW him last on this terrace proud,
Walking in health and gladness,

Begirt with his court; and in all the crowd
Not a single look of sadness.

Bright was the sun, the leaves were green-
Blithely the birds were singing;

The cymbals replied to the tambourine,
And the bells were merrily ringing.

I have stood with the crowd beside his bier,
When not a word was spoken-

When every eye was dim with a tear,

And the silence by sobs was broken.

I have heard the earth on his coffin pour
To the muffied drums, deep rolling,
While the minute gun, with its solemn roar,
Drown'd the death-bells' tolling.

The time-since he walk'd in his glory thus,
To the grave till I saw him carried-
Was an age of the mightiest change to us,
But to him a night unvaried.

Horace Smith, 1779-1849.

ADDRESS TO A MUMMY.

AND thou hast walk'd about (how strange a story !)
In Thebes' street three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And time had not begun to overthrow

Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous !

PERCHANCE that very hand, now pinion'd flat,
Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass;
Or dropp'd a half-penny in Homer's hat,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.

Horace Smith.

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS

YE matin worshippers! who bending lowly
Before the uprisen sun-God's lidless eye-
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy
Incense on high!

Ye bright mosaics! that with storied beauty
The floor of Nature's temple tessellate,
What numerous emblems of instructive duty
Your forms create!

'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth

A call to prayer.

THE JESTER.

Horace Smith.

It needs some sense to play the fool,
Which wholesome rule

Occurred not to our jackanapes,
Who consequently found his freaks
Lead to innumerable scrapes,
And quite as many kicks and tweaks,
Which only seemed to make him faster
Try the patience of his master.

Horace Smith.

CUI BONO?

THINKING is but an idle waste of thought,

And nought is everything and everything is nought.

HAIL, COLUMBIA.

HAIL, Columbia! happy land!

Hail, ye heroes, heaven-born band!

Horace Smith.

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoy'd the peace your valor won!

Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.
Firm-united—let us be,

Rallying round our liberty;
As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Joseph Hopkinson, 1770-1840.

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

THOUGH ages long have passed

Since our fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !
And shall we not proclaim

That blood of honest fame,

Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?

While the language free and bold
Which the bard of Avon sung,

In which our Milton told

How the vault of Heaven rung,

When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;
While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,

Still cling around our hearts,

Between let ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the sun:
Yet, still, from either beach,

The voice of blood shall reach,

More audible than speech,

"We are one !"

Washington Alliston, 1779-1843.