As fancy revisits to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in his well, The old oaken bucket-the iron-bound bucketThe moss covered bucket which hangs in his well,

AN ODE.

WRITTEN BY S, WOODWORTH.

TUNE-Let Fame sound the Trumpet.

AWAKE the loud trumpet, 'tis freedom invites,
Let heroes unite in the strain.

The olive of peace with the laurel unites,
And music swells sweet o'er the plain.
Thy birth, Independence, by freedom be kept,
Till tyranny's banners be furl'd,

Till despots have bled, where victims have wept,
And freedom has spread o'er the world.

When dark superstition had fettered the mind,
And reason in bondage was bound,

The goddess descended to ransom mankind,
And genius arose from the ground,
The PRESS, she established a pillar of fire,
(While night's sable curtain was furl'd,)
Its splendor bade mistic delusion retire,
And PRINTING gave light to the world.

The daring Columbus his canvas unfurl'd,
A nation arose in the west,

The store-house of Europe, a mart for the world,
A home for the poor and oppress'd.

Here freedom's bright temple effulgent shall shine, Her flag, or its turrets unfurl'd,

Our arms have twice sav'd it, 'twill never decline, While PRINTING gives light to the world.

THE LITTLE SAILOR BOY.

THE sea was calm, the sky serene,
And gently blew the western gale,
When Anna, seated on a rock,

Watch'd the Lavonia's less'ning sail.
To heav'n she thus her pray'r addressed:
"Thou who canst save or canst destroy,
From each surrounding danger guard
My much-lov'd little Sailor Boy.

"When tempests o'er the ocean howl,
And even Sailors shrink with dread,
Be some protecting angel near.

To hover round my William's head.
He was belov'd by all the plain,

His father's pride, his mother's joy;
Then safely to their arms restore
Their much-lov'd little Sailor Boy.

"May no rude foe his course impede,
Conduct him safely o'er the waves;
O, may he never be compell'd

To fight for power or mix with slaves;
May smiling peace his steps attend,

Each rising hour be crow'd with jʊy,
As blest as that when I again

Shall meet my much-lov'd Sailor Boy.

LAWRENCE THE BRAVE.

THE streamlets were flying, the canvas was spread ing,

The banner of war floated high in the air,

The gale on its pinions to combat was speeding,
The chief of Columbia, her glory in war;
Undaunted he stood, as the billows that roll'd

Round the barge that he guided through ocean's
blue wave,

His helmet was honour, and fame nerved his soul,
To gather a prize worthy Lawrence the brave.

Columbia's bright genius around him was hov'ring,
To shield her love 'mid the carnage below,
And fate from the impulse of valor recov❜ring,
Seized a javelin of death and directed the blow;
Ah! sad was the hour, when she saw from on high,
The cross of proud Albion triumphantly wave,
And bitter the moment she view'd with a sigh,
On the deck, pale and lifeless, laid Lawrence the
brave.

Ah! me, she exclaim'd, has my hero descended,
From glory's meridian, the summit of fame,
Shall he who while dying his country defended,

Like his form be forgotten, forgotten his name;
And now for the sigh for the kindred that bled,
Shall water the laurel that blooms on his grave.
They ceased, and in anguish she silently shed,
The tear drop of sorrow for Lawrence the brave.

THE WEDDING DAY.

WHAT virgin or shepherd in valley or grove
Will envy my innocent lays,

The song of the heart and the offspring of love,
When sung in my Corydon's praise?

O'er brook and o'er brake as he hies to the bow'r,
How blithesome my shepherd can trip;

And O, when of love he describes the soft pow'r,
The honey-dew drops from his lip.

How sweet is the primrose, the violet how sweet, And sweet is the eglantine breeze;

But Corydon's kiss, when by moonlight we meet, To me is far sweeter, than these.

I blush at his raptures, I hear all his vows,
1 sigh when I offer to speak;

And Ŏ, with delight my fond bosom o'erflows,
When I feel the soft touch of his cheek.

Responsive and shrill be the notes from each spray,
Let the pipe through the village resound,
Be smiles in each face, (), ye shepherds, to-day,
And ring the bells merrily round.

Your favours prepare, my companions, with speed;
Assist me my blushes to hide,

A twelvemonth ago, on this day I agreed
To be my lov❜d Corydon's bride.

LOVE'S GARLAND.

An admired Pastoral Ballad.

How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain,

And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the

grove,

And sweet is the breeze that blows over yon moun

tain,

Yet none is so sweet as the lad that I love.

Then I'll weave him a garland,

A fresh flowing garland.

With lillies and roses,

And sweet blooming posies;

A garland I'll weave for the lad that I love.

It was down in the vale, where the sweet Torza gliding,

Its murmuring stream ripples through the dark grove,

I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding,
To ease the fond sighs of the lad that I love,
Then I'll weave, &c.

THE EXILE'S RETURN

O'ER the hills of Slief gallen as homeward he wandered,

The Exile of Erin oft paused with delight,

To dear recollection his soul he surrenderedAnd each well known object return'd to his sight.

Here was the brook oft he leap'd so light hearted, Here was the bower where with love first he smarted,

And here was the old oak where, when he departed,

He carv'd his last farewell, 'twas ERIN GO
BRAGH.

His heart wild was beating, when softly assailed him

The sound of a harp, O, he listened with joy; What quick'ning emotions his visage reveal'd them, And the fire of his country beamed strong in his

eye.

A sweet female voice soon the love strains attended, Twas dear to his fond soul that o'er it suspended,, With each note the feeling of accent ascended,

Struck full to the magic of ERIN GO BRAGH.