By the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,

Elsinore!

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 sigh the winds 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!

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

YE Mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again,

To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame,

And Ocean was their grave:

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,

Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is on the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.

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

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do 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.

WILDE.

STANZAS.

My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scatter'd on the ground-to die!
Yet on the rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
As if she wept the waste to see-
But none shall weep a tear for me!

My life is like the autumn leaf

That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail-its date is brief,

Restless and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall breathe a sigh for me!

My life is like the prints, which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat,

All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface

All vestige of the human race,

On that lone shore loud moans the sea, But none, alas! shall mourn for me!

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

THE DEATH OF ADAM.

THE sun, in summer majesty on high,
Darted his fierce effulgence down the sky;

Yet dimm'd and blunted were the dazzling rays,
His orb expanded through a dreary haze,
And, circled with a red portentous zone,

He look'd in sickly horror from his throne:

When higher noon had shrunk the lessening shade,

Thence to his home our father we convey'd,

And stretch'd him, pillow'd with his latest sheaves,

On a fresh couch of green and fragrant leaves.

Here, though his sufferings through the glen were known, We chose to watch his dying-bed alone,

Eve, Seth, and I.-In vain he sigh'd for rest,

And oft his meek complainings thus express'd:

"Blow on me, Wind! I faint with heat! O bring Delicious water from the deepest spring;

Your sunless shadows o'er my limbs diffuse,

Ye Cedars! wash me cold with midnight dews;
Cheer me, my friends! with looks of kindness cheer;
Whisper a word of comfort in mine ear;

These sorrowing faces fill my soul with gloom—
This silence is the silence of the tomb."

The sun went down, amidst an angry glare

Of flushing clouds, that crimson'd all the air;

The winds brake loose; the forest-boughs were torn,
And dark aloof the eddying foliage borne;