Whose lines are mottoes of the heart,

Whose truths electrify the sage.

Ye mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;

Ode to the Memory of Burns.

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Ye Mariners of England.

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.

There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Ibid.

Battle of the Baltic.

Few, few, shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

1 When the stormy winds do blow.

Hohenlinden.

Ibid.

Martyn Parker, Ye Gentlemen of England.

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.

To bear is to conquer our fate.

The Exile of Erin.

On visiting a Scene in Argyleshire.

The sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.1

The Soldier's Dream.

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young.

But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.

A stoic of the woods,

Ibid.

Ibid.

To the Rainbow.

a man without a tear. Gertrude of Wyoming.

O Love! in such a wilderness as this.

Part i. Stanza 23.

Part iii. Stanza 1.

The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below!

Again to the battle, Achaians!

Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance!

Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree,

Stanza 5.

It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free.

Drink ye to her that each loves best,

And if you nurse a flame

That 's told but to her mutual breast,
We will not ask her name.

1 The starres, bright centinels of the skies.

Song of the Greeks.

Drink ye to her.

Habington, Castara, Dialogue between Night and Araphil.

Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.1

The Beech Tree's Petition (1802).

CLEMENT C. MOORE. 1779-1863.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

A Visit from St. Nicholas.

PRINCESS AMELIA.

Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,

1783-1810.

I laughed, and danced, and talked, and sung.

JAMES KENNEY. 1780-1849.

Behold, how brightly breaks the morning,
Though bleak our lot, our hearts are warm.

1 Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough!

Behold how brightly breaks.

Morris, Woodman, spare that Tree.

JANE TAYLOR. 1783-1824.

Far from mortal cares retreating,
Sordid hopes and vain desires,
Here, our willing footsteps meeting,
Every heart to heaven aspires.

I thank the goodness and the grace
Which on my birth have smiled,
And made me, in these Christian days,
A happy Christian child.

Hymn.

A Child's Hymn of Praise.

When looks were fond, and words were few.

Ibid.

Poet's Bridal-Day Song.

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 1771-1832.

Such is the custom of Branksome Hall.

Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto i. Stanza 7.

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight.

O fading honours of the dead!
O high ambition, lowly laid!

I was not always a man of woe.

Canto ii. Stanza 1.

Stanza 10.

Stanza 12.

I

I cannot tell how the truth may
say
the tale as 't was said to me.

be;

Stanza 22.

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;

In hamlets, dances on the green.

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

Her blue eyes sought the west afar,
For lovers love the western star.

Along thy wild and willowed shore.

Ne'er

Was flattery lost on poet's ear:
A simple race! they waste their toil
For the vain tribute of a smile.

Call it not vain; - they do not err
Who say, that, when the poet dies,
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,
And celebrates his obsequies.

Canto iii. Stanza 1.

Stanza 24.

Canto iv. Stanza 1.

Stanza 35.

Canto v. Stanza 1.