How smit was poor Adelade's heart at the sight? How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war! Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowful night,

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar

Thou shalt live, she replied, heaven's mercy relieving,

Each anguishing wound shall forbid me to mourn! Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving; No light of the morn shall to Henry return! Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! Ye babes of my love that await me afar! His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu, When he sunk in her arms, the poor Wounded Hussar!

THE AMERICAN STAR.

TUNE-Humours of Glen.

COME strike the bold anthem, the war-dogs are howling,

Already they eagerly snuff up their prey,

The red clouds of war, o'er our forests are scowling, Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping

away;

The infants affrighted, cling close to their mothers, The youths grasp their swords and for combat

prepare,

While beauty weeps fathers, lovers and brothers, Who rush to display the American star.

Come blow the shrill bugle-the loud drum awaken; The dread rifle seize-let the cannon deep roar;

No heart with pale fear, or faint doubtings be shaken,

No slave's hostile foot leave a print on our shore; Shall mothers, wives, daughters, and sisters left weeping,

Insulted by ruffians, be dragged to despair!

Ob no-from her hilis the proud eagle comes sweeping,

And waves to the brave the American star.

The spirits of Washington, Warren, Montgomery, Look down from the clouds with bright aspects

serene,

Come soldiers, a tear and a toast to their memory, Rejoicing they'll see us as once they have been. To us the high boon by the gods has been granted, To spread the glad tidings of liberty far;

Let millions invade us, we'll meet them undaunted, And conquer or die by the American star!

Your hands then, dear comrades, round liberty's altar;

United we swear by the souls of the brave! Not one from the strong resolution shall faulter, To live independent or sink to the grave! Then freemen fill up-lo! the strip'd banners flying, The high bird of liberty screams through the air, Beneath her oppression and tyranny dyingSuccess to the beaming American star.

THE EXILE OF ERIN

TUNE-Erin go Bragh.

THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erm, The dew on his thin robe hung heavy and chill;

For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill : But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion, For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, Where once in the glow of his youthful emotion, He sang the bold anthem of ERIN GO BRAGH!

O, sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger,
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee;
But I have no refuge from famine and danger,
A home and a country remain not to me;

A

never again in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers liv'd, shall I spend the sweet hours,

Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers, And strike to the numbers of ERIN GO BRAGH!

O, where is the cottage that stood by the wild wood, Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall!

O, where is my mother, that watch'd o'er my childhood,

And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ?
Ah! my sad soul, long abandon'd by pleasure,
O, why did it doat on a fast fading treasure-
Tears, like the rain drops, may fall without measure,
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall!

Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ;
But, alas! in a far distant land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more!

O hard cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me
In a mansion of peace where no peril can chase me!
Ah! never again shall my brothers embrace me,

They died to defend me, or live to deplore!

But yet, all its fond recollection suppressing,
One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw:
Erin, an exile, bequeaths thee his blessing,

Land of my forefathers, ERIN GO BRAGH! Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion, Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean, And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,

O, ERIN MA VORNEEN, ERIN GO BRAGH!

THE BANKS OF CHAMPLAIN.

TUNE-The Banks of the Dee.

'TWAS autumn, and round me the leaves were descending,

And lonely the wood-pecker peck'd on the tree; Whilst thousands their freedom and rights were defending,

The din of their arms sounded dismal to me; For Sandy, my love, was engag'd in the action; Without him I valued the world not a fraction; His death would have ended my life in distraction, As lonely I stray'd on the banks of Champlain.

Then turning to list to the cannon's loud thunder,
My elbow I lean'd on a rock near the shore;
The sounds nearly parted my heart-strings asunder,
I thought I should see my dear shepherd no more;
But soon an express all my sorrows suspended,
My thanks to the Father of Mercies ascended;
My hepherd was safe, and my country defended
By freedom's brave sons on the banks of Cham-
plain.

I wip'd from my eyes the big tear that had started And hastened the news to my parents to bear, Who sigh'd for the loss of relations departed,

And wept at the tidings that banish'd their care. The cannons ceas'd roaring, the drums still were beating;

The foes of our country far north were retreating ; The neighbouring damsels, each other were greeting

With songs of delight on the banks of Champlain. Our squadron triumphant, our army victorious, With laurels unfaded, our Spartan's returned; My eyes never dwelt on a scene half so glorious ; My heart with such rapture before never burned; But Sandy, my darling, that moment appearing; His presence to every countenance cheering. Was render'd to me more doubly endearing,

By the feats he perform'd on the banks of Champlain.

But should smiling peace with her blessings and

treasures,

Soon visit the plains of Columbia again,

What pen can describe the enrapturing pleasure, That I shall experience through life with my swain;

For then no wild savage will come to alarm us ;
Nor worse,
British foes send their minions to harm

us,

But nature and art will continue to charm us,

Whilst happy we live on the banks of Champlain.

THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER.

TUNE-Anacreon in Heaven.

OH! say can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,