B

(Set to Music by J. NATHAN.)

RIGHT be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,

In the orbs of the blessed to shine.

On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be;

And our sorrow may cease to repine

When we know that thy God is with thee.

Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be!

There should not be the shadow of gloom

In aught that reminds us of thee.

Young flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest;
But nor cypress nor yew let us see;

For why should we mourn for the blest?

HEY say that Hope is happiness;

But genuine Love must prize the past, And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:

They rose the first-they set the last;

And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our holy Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.

Alas! it is delusion all:

The future cheats us from afar,

Nor can we be what we recall,

Nor dare we think on what we are.

S the Liberty lads o'er the sea

Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,

So we, boys, we

Will die fighting, or live free,

And down with all kings but King Ludd!

When the web that we weave is complete, And the shuttle exchanged for the sword, We will fling the winding sheet

O'er the despot at our feet,

And dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd.

Though black as his heart its hue, Since his veins are corrupted to mud, Yet this is the dew

Which the tree shall renew

Of Liberty, planted by Ludd!

December, 1816.