My pockets with prize-money then were well lined, So Bill I restor'd to his friends;

Their transports made Bill nearly out of his mind,
And me for that act full amends.

In that gallant fight t'other day off the Nile,
My messmate, Sam Stern, chanc'd to die;
The battle once o'er, tho' I cheer'd with a smile,
A tear for poor Sam dimm'd my eye;

Thinks I, here's bad news for his prattlers and Kate,
They'll scarsely survive the sad shock ;

So I'll save my rhino to soften their fate,
And steer them from poverty's rock.

If safely through life's troubled sea you would steer,
And make the right haven at last,

Still kindly all mesmates distress'd strive to cheer,
And shield them from poverty's blast;

For my part I know tars must fight and may fall,
And leave their poor widow's hearts sad;
Lord love them! I wish I could marry them all,
And prove to each orphan a dad.

SUCH PURE DELIGHT.

O Keefe.

SUCH pure delight my bosom knows,
My thanks are due to Heaven and thee;
With gratitude my heart o'erflows,
Kind agent of its clemency!
Humanity-thou good supreme!

To chase the orphan's tear away,
Alike the bright all-cheering beam,
Brings comfort from the God of day.

THE FOREST.

F. C. H. +

THROUGH the forest freely roaming
Is to thoughtful wanderers dear;
Where the sound of waters foaming,
Comes from distance on the ear.

Long the pensive walk extending,
Thick enclos'd on ev'ry side,
Where the trees of ages bending
Stretch their hoary branches wide.

Wander on, the world excluding,
Peace and sweet repose are here,
No vain joys, no cares intruding
'Mid the forest shades appear.
Here the timid bird may cherish

All her offspring more secure,
They that roam too freely perish,
While the forest brood is sure:
As in life's mixed crowds assembling,
Near are old and youthful found,
So the tree decay'd and trembling
Feebly holds its ancient ground;
And the rising sapling near it

Blooms in vigour, youthful, gay,
Where no noontide beam can sear it,
Shelter'd from the scorching ray."

Here the monarch-oaks commanding,
While each humbler tree decays,
Reigns through centuries yet standing,
Mock the term of mortal days.
Still the fatal hour is hasting,
When in turn the oak shall fall,
Angry storms and years slow wasting
Seal, at length, the doom of all!

ADIEU, MY NATIVE LAND, ADIEU!

ADIEU, my native land adieu!

The vessel spreads her swelling sails; Perhaps I never more may view

Your fertile fields your flowery dales. Delusive hope can charm no more,

Far from the faithless maid I roam, Unfriended seek some foreign shore; Unpitied leave my peaceful home.

Adieu, my native land, &e.

Farewell! dear village, oh 1 farewell!
Soft on the gale thy murmur dres,
I hear thy solemn evening bell,

Thy spires yet glad my aching eyes.
Tho' frequent falls the dazzling tear,
I scorn to shrink from fate's decree,
And think not, cruel maid, that e'er
I'll breath another sigh for thee.

Adieu my native land, &c.

In vain through shades of frowning night, Mine eyes thy rocky coast explore, Deep sinks the fiery orb of light,

I view thy beacons now no more. Rise, billows, rise! blow, hollow wind, Nor night, nor storms, nor death I fear, Yet friendly bear me hence to find

That

peace which fate denies me here. Adieu, my native land, &c.

MY NATIVE LAND ALL HAIL!

My native land! my native land!

Now near thy coast-crags high and hoar, I see thy surf that strikes the strand, I hear its hoarse and restless roar, Before the breeze we gently scud

With straining stay and swollen sail, And while we stir the foaming flood, All hail! my native land, all hail ! Through Afric's sands the gold ore gleams, On Asia's shores the diamonds shine, But there, beneath their suns bright beams, The negro-bondsman pants and pines! Proud parent of the fair and free

O'er roaring surf and rolling swell, With happy heart I look on thee,

All hail! my native land, all hail !

What Briton's breast but deeply draws,
The breath that sighs thy shores adieu
But throbs as oft a thought he throws
From far on days of youth and you?

You! whom my heart hath sigh'd to see,
When hope was faint and health was frail,
How gladly now I gaze on thee;

All hail! my native land, all hail!

Bound on bold bark! with pow'rful prow,

Through whitening waves that round thee roar !

From port the pilot hails us.

Now

Hark! hark! I hear the plunging oar,

The anchor drags the clanging chain,
The seamen furl the flapping sail,
Thick throbs my heart-and yet again
All hail! my native land, all hail !

BRUCE'S ADDRESS.

RECITATIVE.

AT Bannockburn King Edward lay,
The Scots they were not far away,
Waiting for the break of day,
Glimmering from the East.

At length the sun shone on the heath,
To lighten up the field of death,
When Bruce, with soul-aspiring breath,
His heroes thus address'd-

AIR.

"Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has often led,
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victory.

Now's the day, and now's the hour,
See the front of battle lour,

See approach proud Edward's pow'r,
Chains and slavery.

"Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha will fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?
Let him turn and flee.
Wha for Scotland's King and law,
Freedom's sword will freely draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
Let him on wi' me.

"By oppressions, woes, and pains,
By our sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free.

Lay the proud Usurper low,
A tyrant fa' in ev'ry foe,
Liberty's in ev'ry blow,
Let us do or dee."

GENERAL WOLFE'S ADDRESS, Written by Himself.

How stands the glass around? For shame, ye take no care my boys, How stands the glass around? Let mirth and wine abound, The trumpets sound, The colours they are flying boys, To fight, kill, or wound,

May we still be found

Content with our hard fate my boys,

On the cold ground.

Why soldiers, why

Should we be melancholy boys?

Why soldiers, why?

Whose business. 'tis to die;
What-sighing? fie!

Drown care, drink on be jolly, boys,
"Tis he, you, or I,

Cold, hot, wet, or dry,

Are always bound to follow, boys,
And scorn to fly.

"Tis but in vain

I mean not to upbraid ye boys,

"Tis but in vain,

For soldiers to complain,

Should next campaign,

Send us to him that made us boys,

We're free from pain:

But if we remain,

A bottle and kind landlady

Cure all again, to repli