Y Ye Mariners of England. E mariners of England, That guard our native seas ; Whose flag has braved a thousand years Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep ; With thunders from her native oak, YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. As they roar on the shore, The meteor-flag of England Shall yet terrific burn ; Till danger's troubled night depart, THOMAS CAMPBELL. ROBIN HOOD. Some old hunting ditty, while Gone the merry morris din ; So it is; yet let us sing Honour to the old bow-string ! Honour to the bugle-horn! Honour to the woods unshorn ! Honour to the Lincoln-green ! Honour to the archer keen! 103 104 SONG. Honour to tight Little John, KEATS. Song. HE lark now leaves his watery nest, And to implore your light, he sings. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; But still the lover wonders what they are, Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn! Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn. DAVENANT. |