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Composed and recited at a meeting of North Britons, in

London, on Monday, the 8th of August, 1803.


UR bosoms we'll bare to the glorious strife,
And our oath is recorded on high,
To prevail in the Cause that is dearer than life,

Or, crushed in its ruins to die.
Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land.

Tis the home we bold sacred is laid to our trust.

God bless the green Isle of the brave!
Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust,
It would raise the old dead from their grave.

Then rise, &c.

In a Briton's sweet home sball a spoiler abide,

Profaning its loves and its charms?
Shall a Frenchman insult a lov'd fair at our side?
To arms-0 my country, to arms!

Then rise, &c.

Shall tyrants enslave us, my countrymen ?-No

Their heads to the sword shall be given; Let a death-bed repentance await the proud foe, And hịs blood be an offering to Heaven !

Then rise, &c.



I'LL bid my hyacinth to blow,

I'll teach my grotto green to be; And sing my true love, all below

The holly bower, and myrtle tree.

There, all his wild-wood scents to bring,

The sweet South Wind shall wander by; And, with the music of his wing,

Delight my rustling canopy.

Come to my close and clustering bower,

Thou spirit of a milder clime!
Fresh with the dews of fruit and power,

of mountain heath and moory thyme.

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With all thy rural echoes come,

Sweet comrade of the rosy day, Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,

* cuckoo's plaintive roundelay.

Where'er thy morning breath has play'd,

Whatever Isles of ocean fann'd, Come to my blossom-woven shade,

Thou wandering wind of fairy land!

For sure from some encbanted Isle,

Where Heav'n and love their sabbath hold, Where pure and happy spirits smile,

Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould;

From some green Eden of the deep,

Where pleasure's sigh alone is heav'd,, Where tears of rapture lovers weep,

Endear'd, undoubting, undeceiv'd;

From some sweet Paradise afar,

Tby music wanders, distant, lost; Where nature lights her leading star,

And love is never, never cross'd.

Ob! gentle gale of Eden bowers,

If back thy rosy feet should roam, To revel with the cloudless hours,

In nature's more propitious

Name to thy lov'd Elysian groves,

That o'er enchanted spirits twine,
A fairer form than cherub loves,

And let the name be Caroline.



GEM of the crimson-coloured even,

Companion of retiring day,
Why at the closing gates of heaven,

Beloved star, dost thou delay?

So fair thy pensile beauty burns,

When soft the tear of twilight flows So due thy plighted step returns,

To chambers brighter than the rose ;

To peace, to pleasure, and to love

So kind a star thou seem'st to be, Sure some enamour'd orb above

Descends and burns to meet with thee,

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,

When all unheavenly passions fly ; Chased by the soul-subduing power Of love's delicious witchery,


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