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Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

III.

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain wave,

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 winds do blow;

When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

IV.

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn;

Till Danger's troubled night depart,

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.

THOMAS MOORE.

Born, 1780; Died, 1852.

TO MRS. TIGHE.

I SAW thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste its bloom away, Mary!
Yet still thy features wore that light
Which flits not with the breath;
And life ne'er look'd more purely bright
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!

As streams that run o'er golden mines
With modest murmur glide,

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines

Within their gentle tide, Mary!

So veil'd beneath a simple guise

Thy radiant genius shone ;
And that which charm'd all other eyes
Seem'd worthless in thine own, Mary!

If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere;
Or could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,

To live with them is far less sweet

Than to remember thee, Mary!

REMEMBRANCES.

OFT in the stilly night

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears

Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken ;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimm'd and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken!

Thus in the stilly night

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends so link'd together

I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather,

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garlands dead,

And all but he departed.

Thus in the stilly night

Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me,

Sad memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

REGINALD HEBER,

BISHOP OF CALCUTTA.

Born, 1783; Died, 1826.

THE Lord of Might from Sinai's brow Gave forth His voice of thunder; And Israel lay on earth below,

Outstretch'd in fear and wonder: Beneath His feet was pitchy night, And at His left hand and His right The rocks were rent asunder.

The Lord of Love on Calvary,

A meek and suffering stranger, Upraised to heaven His languid eye In nature's hour of danger; For us He bore the weight of woe, For us He gave His blood to flow, And met His Father's anger.

The Lord of Love, the Lord of Might,
The King of all created,

Shall back return to claim His right
On clouds of glory seated;
With trumpet-sound and angel-song,
And hallelujahs loud and long,

O'er death and hell defeated.

NIGHT.

GOD, that madest earth and heaven,
Darkness and light;

Who the day for toil hast given,
For rest the night;

May Thine angel-guards defend us!
Slumber sweet Thy mercy send us!
Holy dreams and hopes attend us,
This live-long night!

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Born, 1784; Died, 1842.

TO HIS WIFE.

O! MY love's like the steadfast sun,
Or streams that deepen as they run;
Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years,
Nor moments between sighs and tears,
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain,
Nor dreams of glory dream'd in vain,
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song, which flows
To sober joys and soften woes,
Can make my heart or fancy flee
One moment, my sweet wife, from thee.

Even while I muse, I see thee sit
In maiden bloom and matron wit!

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