THE ENGLISH BOY.

Look from the ancient mountains down,
My noble English boy!

Thy country's fields around thee gleam
In sunlight and in joy.

Ages have roll'd since foeman's march
Pass'd o'er that old, firm sod;
For well the land hath fealty held
To freedom and to God!

Gaze proudly on, my English boy,
And let thy kindling mind
Drink in the spirit of high thought
From every chainless wind.

There, in the shadow of old Time,
The halls beneath thee lie,
Which pour'd forth to the fields of yore
Our England's chivalry.

How bravely and how solemnly

They stand midst oak and yew; Where Cressy's yeoman haply framed The bow, in battle true.

And round their walls the good swords hang, Whose faith knows no alloy,

And shields of knighthood, pure from stain; Gaze on, my English boy.

THE ENGLISH BOY.

Gaze where the hamlet's ivied church
Gleams by the antique elm;

Or where the minster lifts the cross

High through the air's blue realm.

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Martyrs have shower'd their free hearts' blood
That England's prayer might rise,
From those grey fanes of thoughtful years,

Unfetter'd, to the skies.

Along their aisles, beneath their trees,
This earth's most glorious dust,
Once fired with valour, wisdom, song,
Is laid in holy trust.

Gaze on-gaze farther, farther yet-
My gallant English boy;

Yon blue sea bears thy country's flag,

The billow's pride and joy.

Those waves in many a fight have closed
Above her faithful dead;
That red-cross flag victoriously

Hath floated o'er their bed.

They perish'd-this green turf to keep
By hostile tread unstain'd:
These knightly halls inviolate,
Those churches unprofaned.

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THE THUNDER-STORM.

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.

THE THUNDER-STORM.

DEEP, fiery clouds o'ercast the sky,
Dead stillness reigns in air;
There is not e'en a breeze, on high
The gossamer to bear.

The woods are hush'd, the waves at rest,
The lake is dark and still,
Reflecting on its shadowy breast

Each form of rock and hill.

The lime-leaf waves not in the groves,

The rose-tree in the bower; The birds have ceased their songs of love, Awed by the threatening hour.

'Tis noon;-yet nature's calm profound
Seems as at midnight deep;

But hark! what peal of awful sound
Breaks on creation's sleep?

THE THUNDER-STORM.

The thunder-burst! its rolling might

Seems the firm hills to shake; And in terrific splendour bright

The gather'd lightnings break.

Yet fear not, shrink not thou, my child!
Though, by the bolt's descent,
Were the tall cliffs in ruin piled,
And the wide forests rent.

Doth not thy God behold thee still,
With all-surveying eye?

Doth not His power all nature fill,
Around, beneath, on high?

Know, hadst thou eagle-pinions free
To track the realms of air,
Thou could'st not reach a spot where He

Would not be with thee there!

In the wide city's peopled towers,
On the vast ocean's plains,

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Midst the deep woodland's loneliest bowers,

Alike the Almighty reigns!

Then fear not, though the angry sky

A thousand darts should cast; Why should we tremble e'en to die,

And be with Him at last?

HEMANS

GOVERN YOUR TEMPER.

Оn, govern your temper! for music the sweetest Was never so sweet-nor one half so divineAs a heart kept in tune, which the moment thou greetest

Breathes harmony dearer than notes can combine!

Never say it is nature, and may not be cured; One tithe of the time which to music we

yield

Would render the conquest of temper ensured, And bring us more music than song e'er revealed.

Oh, govern your temper-for roses the fairest

Were never so fair, nor so rich in perfume, As the flowers, which e'en thou, chilly Winter, yet sparest

The flowers of the heart, which unchangingly bloom!

Never think it is nature,-for oh, if it be,

The sooner the spirit of nature is shown

That the spirit of heaven is higher than she,
The sooner, the longer, will love be our own!

C. SWAIN.