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Their shots along the deep slowly boom :-
Then ceased and all is wail,
As they strike the shatter'd sail ;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.-
Out spoke the victor then,
As he hail'd them o'er the wave;
"Ye are brothers ! ye are men !
And we conquer but to save :-
instead of death let us bring;
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King.'
Then Denmark bless'd our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose ;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,
As death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun look'd smiling bright
O'er a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Now joy, Old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
While the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou :
Soft sighs the wind of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave.
Oft has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking, spark,
eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post;
Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be seen.
Returning from his finish'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before,
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travelld fool your mouth will stop;
“Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-
I've seen-and sure I ought to know'-
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.
Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass’d,
And on their way in friendly chat
Now talk' of this, and now of that,
Discours d awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal, cries one,
Sure never lived beneath the sun:
A lizard's body lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its tooth, with triple claw disjoin'd,
And what a length of tail behind !
How slow its pace! and then its hue!
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?!
Hold there!' the other quick replies,
"'Tis green-I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warm'd it in the sunny ray;
Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd,
And saw it eat the air for food.'
“I've seen it, Sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue;
At leisure I the beast survey’d,
Extended in the cooling shade.'
"'Tis green! 'tis green! Sir, I assure ye'
"Green !' cries the other in a fury"Why, Sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes ? '
"'Twere no great loss,' the friend replies;
• For if they always serve you thus,
You'll find 'em but of little use.'
So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows:
When luckily came by a third ;
To him the question they referr'd;
And begg'd he'd tell 'em, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.
“Sirs,' cries the umpire, cease your pother-
The creature's neither one nor t’other.
I caught the animal last night,
And view'd it o'er by candle-light:
I mark'd it well—'twas black as jet-
You stare—but Sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it.' 'Pray, Sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue.'
. And I'll be sworn, that, when you're seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.'
“Well then, at once to ease the doubt,' Replies the man,
"I'll turn him out;
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.'
He said ; then full before their siyht,
Produc'd the beast, and lo ! 'twas white.
Both star'd, the man look'd wondrous wise-
‘My children,' the chameleon cries,
(Then first the creature found a tongue)
You all are right, and all are wrong:
When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you:
Nor wonder, if you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own.'
A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains :
A graver fact, enlisted on your side,
May furnish illustration, well applied ;
But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
'Tis the most asinine employ on earth,
To hear them tell of parentage and birth,
And echo conversations, dull and dry,
Embellish'd with—He said,—and, So said I.
At every interview their route the same,
The repetition makes attention lame:
We bustle up with unsuccessful speed,
And in the saddest part cry-Droll indeed !
The path of narrative with care pursue,
Still making probability your clue ;
On all the vestiges of truth attend,
And let them guide you to a decent end.
Of all ambitions man may entertain,
The worst that can invade a sickly brain,
Is that which angles hourly for surprise,
And baits its hook with prodigies and lies.
Credulous infancy, or age as weak,
Are fittest auditors for such to seek,
Who to please others will themselves disgrace,
Yet please not, but affront you to your face.
A great retailer of this curious ware,
Having unloaded and made many stare,
Can this be true ? an arch observer cries ;
Yes, (rather moved,) I saw it with these eyes!
Sir! I believe it on that ground alone ;
I could not, had I seen it with my own.
A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct ;
The language plain, and incidents well linked ;
Tell not as new what everybody knows,
And, new or old, still hasten to a close;
There, centring in a focus round and neat,
Let all your rays of information meet.
What neither yields us profit nor delight
Is like a nurse's lullaby at night;
Guy Earl of Warwick and fair Eleanore,
Or giant-killing Jack would please me more.
The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose,
In contact inconvenient, nose to nose,
As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz,
Touched with the magnet, had attracted his.
His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large,
Proves after all a wind-gun’s airy charge,
An extract of his diary-no more,
A tảsteless journal of the day before.
He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain,
Call’d on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again,
Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk
With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk.
I interrupt him with a sudden bow,
Adieu, dear Sir! lest you should lose it now.
LOVE FOR OUR NATIVE LAND.
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still —
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clima
Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost,
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And fields without a flower, for warmer France
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime
Of patriotic eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart
As any thunderer there. And I can feel
Thy follies too; and with a just disdain