Carey.

THIS IS LOVE.

To sigh for hours at beauty's feet,
To start when rival steps are near,
With ardent warmth her glance to meet,
And pour soft flatteries in her ear;
To kneel, till won by fairer forms

And brighter eyes, and then forsake,
And while new hope new fancy warms,
To leave her trusting heart to break:
This passion haunts our earthly span,
This is the wavering love of Man!

To seek one form in early youth,

To court no gaze, no vow beside, To hold through life a holy truth,

Which firmest proves when deepest tried, And, like the diamond's sparkling light, Can halls and palaces illame;

Yet shines more cheering and more bright In scenes of darkness and of gloom: This faith descends from realms above,— This, this is Woman's changeless love!

As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.

With thunders form her native oak,
She quells the floods below-

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

26

HOHENLINDEN.

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.