Heroes of chivalry! whose banners grace
The aisles of many a consecrated place,
Confess how few of you can match in fame
The martyr Winkelried's immortal name!

TO THE UNITED STATES OF NORTH AMERICA.

UNITED STATES, your banner wears

Two emblems-one of fame;
Alas, the other that it bears

Reminds us of your shame.

Your standard's constellation types
White freedom by its stars;

But what's the meaning of the stripes?
They mean your negroes' scars.

LINES ON MY NEW CHILD-SWEETHEART.

I HOLD it a religious duty

To love and worship children's beauty;
They've least the taint of earthly clod,
They're freshest from the hand of God;
With heavenly looks they make us sure
The heaven that made them must be pure.
We love them not in earthly fashion,
But with a beatific passion.

I chanced to, yesterday, behold

A maiden child of beauty's mould;

'Twas near, more sacred was the scene,

The palace of our patriot Queen.
The little charmer to my view
Was sculpture brought to life anew.
Her eyes had a poetic glow,

Her pouting mouth was Cupid's bow :
And through her frock I could descry
Her neck and shoulders' symmetry.
'Twas obvious from her walk and gait
Her limbs were beautifully straight;
I stopp'd th' enchantress, and was told,
Though tall, she was but four years old.

Her guide so grave an aspect wore
I could not ask a question more;
But follow'd her. The little one
Threw backward ever and anon
Her lovely neck, as if to say,

"I know you love me, Mister Grey;"
For by its instinct childhood's eye
Is shrewd in physiognomy;
They will distinguish fawning art
From sterling fondness of the heart.

And so she flirted, like a true
Good woman, till we bade adieu.
'Twas then I with regret grew wild,
Oh, beauteous, interesting child!

Why ask'd I not thy home and name?
My courage fail'd me--more's the shame.
But where abides this jewel rare ?
Oh, ye that own her, tell me where !
For sad it makes my heart and sore
To think I ne'er may meet her more.

THE LAUNCH OF A FIRST-RATE.

WRITTEN ON WITNESSING THE SPECTACLE.

ENGLAND hails thee with emotion,
Mightiest child of naval art,

Heaven resounds thy welcome! Ocean
Takes thee smiling to his heart.

Giant oaks of bold expansion

O'er seven hundred acres fell,

All to build thy noble mansion,

Where our hearts of oak shall dwell.

'Midst those trees the wild deer bounded, Ages long ere we were born, And our great-grandfathers sounded

Many a jovial hunting-horn.

Oaks that living did inherit

Grandeur from our earth and sky,

Still robust, the native spirit

In your timbers shall not die.

Ship to shine in martial story,
Thou shalt cleave the ocean's path
Freighted with Britannia's glory
And the thunders of her wrath.

Foes shall crowd their sails and fly thee,
Threat'ning havoc to their deck,
When afar they first descry thee,
Like the coming whirlwind's speck.

Gallant bark! thy pomp and beauty
Storm or battle ne'er shall blast,
Whilst our tars in pride and duty
Nail thy colours to the mast.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

WHO ASKED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING ORIGINAL FOR HER ALBUM.

AN original something, fair maid, you would win

me

To write—but how shall I begin?

For I fear I have nothing original in me---
Excepting Original Sin.