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And, louder than the bolts of Heaven,

Far flashed 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! Fow, few shall part, where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheety And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre !




Ye Mariners of England !
That guard our native seas :
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and lung,
And the stormy tempests blow.


The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As yo sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.


Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is on the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.


The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night departe
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.


O HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;
And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier.

Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud:
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around:
They marched all in silence-they looked on the ground.

In silence they reached over mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;
Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn :
“ Why speak ye no word ?” said Glenara the stern.

“ And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows !”
So spake the rude chieftain :-no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed.

“ I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,” Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; “ And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!”

0! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scoru, 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:

“I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem;
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!”

In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert revealed where his lady was found;
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne,
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!



OF Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.-


Like Leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by thu chine:
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death ;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.-


But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rushed
O’er the deadly space between.
“ Hearts of oak!” our captains cried, when

each gun

From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.-


Again! again ! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back;-
Their shots along the deep slowly boom :--
Then ceased-and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail ;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.-

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