Those waves in many a fight have closed
Above her faithful dead;

That red-cross flag victoriously
Hath floated o'er their bed.

They perished-this green turf to keep
By hostile tread unstained :
These knightly halls inviolate,
Those churches unprofaned.

And high and clear their memory's light
Along our shore is set,

And many an answering beacon fire

Shall there be kindled yet.

Lift up thy heart, my English boy,
And pray like them to stand,
Should God so summon thee, to guard

The altars of the land.

HEMANS.

LOVE OF COUNTRY.

REATHES there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne e within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well,
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;

Scotland.

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

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SCOTLAND.

EAR to my spirit, Scotland, hast thou been, 寳 Since infant years, in all thy glens of green;

Land of my love, where every sound and sight

Comes in soft melody, or melts in light;

Land of the green wood by the silver rill,

The heather and the daisy of the hill,

The guardian thistle to the foeman stern,
The wild-rose, hawthorn, and the lady-fern;
Land of the lark, that like a seraph sings,
Beyond the rainbow, upon quivering wings;
Land of wild beauty and romantic shapes,
Of sheltered valleys and of stormy capes;
Of the bright garden, and the tangled brake,
Of the dark mountain and the sun-lit lake;
Land of my birth, and of my father's grave,
The eagle's home, the eyrie of the brave;
Land of affection, and of native worth,

Land where my bones shall mingle with the earth
The foot of slave thy heather never stained,
Nor rocks, that battlement thy sons, profaned;
Unrivalled land of science and of arts;

Land of fair faces, and of faithful hearts;

Land where Religion paves her heavenward road,
Land of the temple of the living God!

Yet dear to feeling, Scotland, as thou art,
Shouldst thou that glorious temple e'er desert,
I would disclaim thee,-seek the distant shore
Of Christian isle, and thence return no more.

JAMES GRAY.

BRUCE TO HIS ARMY.

COTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to Victory!

Now's the day, and now's the hour,

See the front of battle lour;

See approach proud Edward's power,
Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor-knave?

Wha can fill a coward's grave?

Wha sae base as be a slave ?

Let him turn and flee!

Wha, for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword would strongly draw,

Freeman stand or freeman fa',

Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

The Englishman.

Lay the proud usurper low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Let us do or die!

Burns.

THE ENGLISHMAN.

HERE'S a land that bears a well-known

name,

Though it is but a little spot;

I say 'tis the first on the scroll of fame,
And who shall aver it is not?

Of the deathless ones who shine and live

In arms, in arts, or in song,

The highest the whole wide world can give,
To that little land belong.

'Tis the star of earth, deny it who can,

The island home of an Englishman.

There's a flag that waves o'er every sea,

No matter when or where;

And to treat that flag as ought but the free
Is more than the strongest dare.
For the lion-spirits that tread the deck

Have carried the palm of the brave;

And that flag MAY sink with a shot-torn wreck,
But never float over a slave!

Its honour is stainless, deny it who can,
And this is the flag of an Englishman.

There's a heart that leaps with burning glow,

The wronged and the weak to defend ;

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And strikes as soon for a trampled foe,

As it does for a soul-bound friend.

It nurtures a deep and honest love,
The passions of faith and pride,
And yearns, with the fondness of a dove,
To the light of its own fireside.

'Tis a rich, rough gem, deny it who can,
And this is the heart of an Englishman.

The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone,
And boldly claim his right;

For he calls such a vast domain his own.
That the sun never sets on his might,
Let the haughty stranger seek to know
The place of his home and birth,
And a flush will pour from cheek to brow
While he tells his native earth;

For a glorious charter, deny it who can,

Is breathed in the words, "I'm an Englishman."

ELIZA COOK.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

E 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.