For England, home, and beauty;
He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,
England expects that every man
This day will do his duty."

At last the fatal wound,
Which spread dismay around,
The heroe's breast receiv'd;
"Heav'n fights on our side,
The day's our own," he cried;
"Now, long enough I've liv'd.
In honour's cause my life was past,
In honour's cause I fall at last,

For England, home, and beauty!"
Thus ending life as he began,
England confess'd that every man
That day had done his duty.

IN THE DOWNHILL OF LIFE.

IN the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my fate no less fortunate be,

Than a snug elbow chair can afford for reclining,
And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea.

With an ambling pad poney, to pace o'er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow;

And blithe as the lark, that each day hails the dawn,
Look forward with hope for to-morrow.

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too,

As the sunshine or rain may prevail;

A small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, And a barn for the use of the flail,

A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game,

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;

I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame,

Nor what honours await him to-morrow.

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be com

pletely

Secur'd by a neighbouring hill;

At night, may repose steal upon me more sweetly,
By the side of a murmuring rill;

And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
With my friends will I share what to-day may afford,
And let them spread the table to-morrow.

But when I at last must throw off this frail covering,
Which I've worn for threescore years and ten,
On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hover-
ing,

Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again;

But my face in a glass I'll serenely survey,

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow, As this old worn-out stuff which is threadbare to-day, May become everlasting to-morrow.

ENGLAND'S WOODEN WALLS.
WHAT should fire a Briton's heart
When his land's in danger!
Courage and his patriot-strength-
To repel each stranger!

Should the foe insult our flag,

What shall cause his wonder?"
England's conquering wooden-walls,
And their deep mouth'd thunder!

Thus shall England ever prove
Great in warlike story,

And her Briton's ever shine
In the page of glory!

Heart and hand will e'er unite,

Fearless what befalls them;

Ever ready, day or night,

When their country calls then!

THE WOLF.

AT the peaceful midnight hour,
Ev'ry sense and ev'ry pow'r
Fetter'd lies in downy sleep:
Then our careful watch we keep.
While the wolf in nightly prowl
Bays the moon with hideous howl:
Gates are barr'd, a vain resistance,
Females shriek, but no assistance:
"Silence! or you meet your fate-
Your keys, your jewels, cash and plate!"
Locks, bolts, and bars, soon fly asunder.
Then to rifle, rob, and plunder.

HIP, HIP, HIP, HURRAH.

BRIGHT are the beams of the morning sky,
And sweet dew the red blossoms sip.
But brighter the glances of dear woman's eye,
And sweet is the dew on her lip;
Her mouth is the fountain of rapture.
A source from whence purity flows;
Ah! who would not taste of its magic,
As the honey bee sips from the rose.
Then the toast, then the toast be dear woman,
Let each breast that is manly approve;
Then the toast, then the toast be dear woman!
And nine cheers for the girls that we love.
Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!

Come, raise, raise the wine cup to heaven high,
Ye gods on Olympus approve

The offering thus mellowed by woman's bright eye,
Outrivals the nectar of Jove.

Then raise high the goblet with transport,
The spell of life's best joys impart,

The cup thus devoted to woman,

Yields the only true balm to the heart.

Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!

GALLANT TROUBADOUR.

GLOWING with love, on fire for fame,
A Troubadour who hated sorrow,
Beneath his lady's window came,

And thus he sang his last good morrow;
My arm it is my country's right,

My heart is in my true-love's bower,
Gaily for love and fame to fight,
Befits a gallant Troubadour.

And while he march'd with helm on head,
And harp in hand the descant sung,

As faithful to his fav'rite maid,

The Minstrel burthen still he sung;
My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower,
Resolved for love and fame to fight,
I come a gallant Troubadour.

Alas! upon the moody field,

He fell beneath the foeman's grave,
But still reclining on his shield,
Expiring sung the exulting stave;
My life it is my country's right,
My heart is in my true-love's bower,
For love and fame to fall in fight,
Becomes a gallant Troubadour.

BY THE MARGIN OF FAIR ZURICH'S
WATERS.

By the margin of fair Zurich's waters

Ayieo!

Dwelt a youth whose fond heart, night and day,
For the fairest of fair Zurich's daughters-
Ayieo!

In a dream of love melted away.
When alone no one bolder than he,
But with her none more timid could be ;
Will you list to me dearest I pray ?-Ayieo,
When she did, this was all he could say:-
Ayieo! ayieo! alack, well-a-day,
Ayieo! ayieo! was all he could say.
By the margin of fair Zurich's waters-

Ayieo!

:

At the close of a fine summer's day,
To the fairest of fair Zurich's daughters-
Ayieo!

This fond youth found at last tongue to say
I'm in love, as you plainly may see,
Could I love any other but thee;
Oh, say then, wilt thou be my bride?
Ayieo!

Can you tell how this fair one replied ?
Ayieo! ayieo! I leave you to guess.
Ayieo! ayieo! of course she said, ycs!

KING DEATH.

KING Death was a rare old fellow,
He sat where no sun could shine,
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal black wine.

Hurrah! for the coal black wine.