The dead to life return;
Our fathers' spirits rise!-

My brethren! in your breasts they burn,
They sparkle in your eyes.

Now launch upon the foe

The lightning of your rage!

Strike, strike the assailing giants low,
The Titans of the age.

They yield, they break,-they fly;
The victory is won:

Pursue they faint,-they fall,-they die:
Oh, stay!—the work is done.

Spirit of Vengeance! rest:

Sweet Mercy cries, "Forbear!"

She clasps the vanquished to her breast; Thou wilt not pierce them there?

-Thus vanish Britain's foes
From her consuming eye;
But rich be the reward of those
Who conquer--those who die!

O'ershadowing laurels deck

The living hero's brows;

But lovelier wreaths entwine his neck,— His children and his spouse!

Exulting o'er his lot,

The dangers he has braved,

He clasps the dear ones, hails the cot,
Which his own valour saved.

Daughters of Albion! weep;
On this triumphant plain,

Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep,
For you and freedom slain.

Oh, gently close the eye

That loved to look on you ;

Oh, seal the lip, whose earliest sigh,
Whose latest breath was true:

With knots of sweetest flowers
Their winding-sheet perfume;

And wash their wounds with true-love showers,
And dress them for the tomb,

For beautiful in death

The Warrior's corse appears, Embalmed by fond Affection's breath,

And bathed in Woman's tears.

Give me the death of those
Who for their country die;
And oh, be mine like their repose,
When cold and low they lie!

Their loveliest mother Earth
Enshrines the fallen brave,

In her sweet lap who gave them birth
They find their tranquil grave.

WAR SONG.

HEAVEN speed the righteous sword,
And Freedom be the word!

Come, brethren, hand in hand,

Fight for your fatherland.

Germania from afar

Invokes her sons to war;

Awake! put forth your powers,
And victory must be ours.

On, to the combat, on!

Go where your sires have gone;
Their might unspent remains,
Their pulse is in your veins.

On, to the combat, on!
Rest will be sweet anon;
The slave may yield, may fly;
We conquer or we die!

O Liberty! thy form

Shines through the battle-storm;
Away with fear, away!
Let justice win the day!

THE OCEAN.

WRITTEN AT SCARBOROUGH, IN THE SUMMER OF 1805.

ALL hail to the ruins,* the rocks and the shores!
Thou wide-rolling Ocean, all hail!

Now brilliant with sunbeams, and dimpled with oars,
Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale,

While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-shadows sail,
And the silver-winged sea-fowl on high,
Like meteors bespangle the sky,

Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride,

Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide!

From the tumult and smoke of the city set free,
With eager and awful delight,

From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee;
I gaze-and am changed at the sight;
For mine eye is illumined, my genius takes flight,
My soul, like the sun, with a glance

Embraces the boundless expanse,

And moves on thy waters, wherever they roll,
From the day-darting zone to the night-shadowed pole.

My spirit descends where the dayspring is born,
Where the billows are rubies on fire,

And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn
Are sweet as the Phoenix's pyre:

O regions of beauty, of love, and desire!

O gardens of Eden! in vain

Placed far on the fathomless main,

Where Nature with Innocence dwelt in her youth,
When pure was her heart, and unbroken her truth.

* Scarborough Castle.

But now the fair rivers of Paradise wind

Through countries and kingdoms o'erthrown;
Where the giant of Tyranny crushes mankind,
Where he reigns,-and will soon reign alone;
For wide and more wide, o'er the sun-beaming zone,
He stretches his hundredfold arms,

Despoiling, destroying its charms;

Beneath his broad footstep the Ganges is dry,
And the mountains recoil from the flash of his eye.

Thus the pestilent Upas, the demon of trees,
Its boughs o'er the wilderness spreads,
And with livid contagion polluting the breeze,
Its mildewing influence sheds;

The birds on the wing, and the flowers in their beds,
Are slain by its venomous breath,

That darkens the noonday with death,

And pale ghosts of travellers wander around,
While their mouldering skeletons whiten the ground.

Ah! why hath JEHOVAH, in forming the world,
With the waters divided the land,

His ramparts of rocks round the continent hurled,
And cradled the deep in His hand,

If man may transgress His eternal command,
And leap o'er the bounds of his birth

To ravage the uttermost earth,

And violate nations and realms that should be
Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea?

There are, gloomy Ocean! a brotherless clan,
Who traverse thy banishing waves,

The poor disinherited outcasts of man,

Whom avarice coins into slaves!

From the homes of their kindred, their forefathers' graves, Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss,

They are dragged on the hoary abyss;

The shark hears their shrieks, and, ascending to day,

Demands of the spoiler his share of the prey.

Then joy to the tempest that whelms them beneath,
And makes their destruction its sport!

But woe to the winds that propitiously breathe,
And waft them in safety to port!

Where the vultures and vampires of Mammon resort;

Where Europe exultingly drains

The life-blood from Africa's veins;

Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod,
And spurns at his footstool the image of GOD!

The hour is approaching, a terrible hour!
And Vengeance is bending her bow;
Already the clouds of the hurricane lour,
And the rock-rending whirlwinds blow:
Back rolls the huge Ocean, hell opens below;
The floods return headlong, they sweep
The slave-cultured lands to the deep;
In a moment entombed in the horrible void,
By their Maker Himself in His anger destroyed.

Shall this be the fate of the cane-planted isles,
More lovely than clouds in the west,

When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smiles
Sinks softly and sweetly to rest?
No!-Father of mercy! befriend the opprest;
At the voice of Thy Gospel of peace

May the sorrows of Africa cease;

And the slave and his master devoutly unite
To walk in Thy freedom, and dwell in Thy light! *

As homeward my weary-winged fancy extends
Her star-lighted course through the skies,
High over the mighty Atlantic ascends,
And turns upon Europe her eyes;

Ah me! what new prospects, new horrors arise!
I see the war-tempested flood

All foaming and panting with blood;
The panic-struck Ocean in agony roars,

Rebounds from the battle, and flies to his shores.

For Britannia is wielding her trident to-day,
Consuming her foes in her ire,

And hurling her thunder with absolute sway
From her wave-ruling chariots of fire.

She triumphs; the winds and the waters conspire

To spread her invincible name;

The universe rings with her fame;

* Alluding to the glorious success of the Moravian missionaries among the Negroes in the West Indies.