ENGLAND, THE ANCHOR AND HOPE OF
THE WORLD.

UNDAUNTED in peril, and foremost in danger,
Ever ready the rights of mankind to defend;"
The guard of the weak, and support of the stranger,
To oppression a foe, and to freedom a friend:
Amid the rude scenes of dismay and commotion,
Since Anarchy first her red banners unfurl'd,
Still firm as her own native rock in the ocean,

Stood England, the Anchor and Hope of the World. From that shore where our Sidney with spirit defeated The Corsican chief who at Acre assail'd;

From that soil whence the foe has inglorious retreated,
Where freedom has flourish'd and tyranny fail'd;
From the banks of the Rhine, with exulting emotion,
Where Liberty's hand retribution has hurl'd;
We turn to our own native rock in the ocean,

To England, the Anchor and Hope of the world.
Sweetest spot on the earth, where true honor combining
With justice and truth gives a strength to the whole;
Where the rose-bud of beauty, with valor entwining,
Exalteth the heart, and enlargeth the soul.
O, land of my birth! yet shall peace be thy portion,
And thy white sails in commerce again be unfurl'd;
And still shalt thou stand, lovely rock in the ocean,
The Anchor of Europe, the Hope of the World.

ENGLAND, A WORLD.

SHOULD danger e'er approach our coast,
The inbred spirit of the land

Wou'd animate each heart, each hand,

Would bind us in one general host!

England, a world within itself! shall reign,

Safe in her floating towers, her castles on the main.

Our isle's best rampart is the sea

The midnight march of foes it braves:

And Heav'n that fenc'd it round with waves, Ordain'd the people to be free!

England, &c.

BEWARE OF LOVE.

Cherry.

DEEP as the fountain of this beating heart,
Free as the vital stream from thence that flow,
Dear as my life, with which I'd sooner part,
Than forget to thee the gratitude I owe.
Unwearied with the varied change,
Through coast or climate as we range,
No, no, no, no, no, mother, no,

I'll ne'er forget the love, the gratitude I owe.
Blythe as the rays that cheer the blushing morn,
Puls'd in this heart, dear sister, dost thou move;
Bless'd with each charm that can thy sex adorn,
Yet sister, oh dear sister, beware of love.
Unwarying with the varied change,
Through coast or climate as we range,
Yes, yes, yes, yes, oh! sister, yes,
Beware, beware of love.

Bayley.

THE bridal is over, the guests are all gone;
The bride's only sister sits weeping alone;
The wreath of white roses is torn from her brow,
And the heart of the bridemaid is desolate now.
With smiles and caresses she deck'd the fair bride,
And then led her forth with affectionate pride;
She knew that together no more they should dwell;
Yet she smil'd when she kiss'd her, and whisper'd
farewell.

She would not embitter the festival day,

Nor send her sweet sister in sadness away:

She heard the bells ringing, she sees her depart;
She cannot veil longer the grief of her heart.

She thinks of each pleasure, each pain, that endears
The gentle companion of happier years;

The wreath of white roses is torn from her brow,
And the heart of the bridemaid is desolate now.

O! WHEREFORE WEEP?

O! WHEREFORE weep, my sister dear,
"For truth and innocence are thine?

O! cloud not with a falling tear,

A cheek where artless graces shine:
Let others weep, REMORSE who fear,
But weep not thou, my sister dear.
I love the well, my sister fair,

Thy bosom does my love return;
Thy sorrows, then, O! let me share
I cannot bear to see thee mourn:
Let others weep reproof who hear,
But weep not thou, my sister dear.
My sister dear, O smile once more
I love to see thy laughing eye:
My comfort in thy smiles restore,
And thine my music shall supply:
Thy tuneful voice I love to hear
But weep no more, my sister dear.

WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.

T. Moore.

WHEN cold in the earth, lies the friend thou hast loved,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed,
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.
And Oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far

From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam, Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star

That arose on his darkness and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealings, that taught him true love to adore,. To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, Thou cams't, like a soft golden calm, o'er the sea; And if happiness purely and glowingly smil'd

On his evening horizon, the light was from thee.

And tho' sometimes the shade of past folly would rise, And tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray, He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes, And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanish'd away.

As the priests of the sun, when their altars were dim,
At the day-beams alone could its lustre repair,
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,
He but flew to that smile and rekindled it there..

THE PILGRIM'S REST.

F. C. H.t

REST thee, weary pilgrim, rest thee!
All thy toilsome journey done;

Heav'n's rich grace has freely blest thee;
And thy glorious shrine is won!
See the year's declining features
Changing in their slow decay;
So shall be the change of creatures,
Godlike man shall pass away!

Thou hast tasted earth's best pleasure,
Thou hast basked in fortune's sun;
Now thy days have filled their measure,
And thy course of years is run:
But thy heart hath rested never,
On the joys poor earth could give,
Thy firm hope was fixed for ever,
Where the soul shall truly live.

So, when fades the world's false glory,
Thou wilt gladly say adieu!
And with years and virtues hoary,
Rise to joys for ever new.
Rest thee, pilgrim! rest securely,
Throned above the vaulted sky,
Drink life's waters, gushing purely
From the eternal source on high.

MY NATIVE LAND, GOOD NIGHT.

ADIEU! adieu! my native shore,

Fades o'er the waters blue;

Lord Byron.

The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon sun that sits upon the sea
We follow in its flight:
Farewell, awhile, to him and thee,
My native land, good night!
With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;

Nor heed what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.

Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves,
And when ye fail my sight,
Welcome ye desarts and ye caves-
My native land, good night!

THE LAST WHISTLE.

WHETHER sailor or not, for a moment avast,
Poor Jack's mizen topsail is laid to the mast;
He'll never turn out, or again heave the lead,
He's now all aback, nor will sails shoot a-head.
Yet tho' worms gnaw his timbers, his vessel's a wreck,
When he hears the Last Whistle, he'll jump upon deck.

With his frame a mere hulk, and his reck'ning on board,
At last he dropp'd down to mortality's road,

With eternity's ocean before him in view,

He cheerfully pip'd out " My messmates, adieu : Tho' the worms gnaw my timbers, and my vessel's a wreck,

When I hear the Last Whistle, I'll jump upon deck."

Secure in his cabin, he's moor'd in the grave,
He hears now no more the loud roar of the wave:
Press'd by death, he is sent to the tender, below,
Where seamen and lubbers must ev'ry one go.

Yet tho' worms gnaw his timbers, and his vessel's a wreck,

When he hears the Last Whistle, he'll jump upon deck.

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN.

Sir W. Scott.

My hawk is tired of perch and hood,
My idle greyhound loathes his food,