HOHENLINDEN.

THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And, furious, every charger neigh'd
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills, with thunder riv'n;
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driv'n;
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stained snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deepens.-On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part where many meet;
The snow shall be their winding sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast

And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast!

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry ;

But give to me the swelling breeze,
And white waves heaving high:

The white waves heaving high, my lads,
The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is wakening loud.
The wind is wakening loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free-
The hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

We've with Nelson ploughed the main,

Pull away, jolly boys,

Now his signal flies again,

Pull away.

Brave hearts, then let us go,

To drub the haughty foe,

Who once again shall know,

Pull away, jolly boys,

That our backs we never show,

Pull away.

We have fought, and we have sped,

Pull away, gallant boys,

Where the rolling wave was red,

Pull away.

We've stood many a mighty shock,

Like the thunder-stricken oak,

We've been bent, but never broke,

Pull away, gallant boys;
We ne'er brooked a foreign yoke,

Round the earth our glory rings,
At the thought my bosom springs,
That where'er our pennant swings,
Pull away, gallant boys,

Of the ocean we're the kings,

Pull

away.

WELCOME BAT AND OWLET GRAY.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

O welcome bat and owlet gray,
Thus winging low your airy way;
And welcome moth and drowsy fly,
That to mine ear come humming by ;
And welcome shadows long and deep,
And stars that from the pale sky peep!
O welcome all! to me ye say,
My woodland love is on her way.

Upon the soft wind floats her hair,
Her breath is in the dewy air,
Her steps are in the whisper'd sound
That steals along the stilly ground.