To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main :
And every shore it circles thine.
Rule, Britannia, &c.

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair :
Blessed isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair:

Rule, Britannia, rule the waves,

Britons never will be slaves!

J. Thomson.

LXXXIX.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

E 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 winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do 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 ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er 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 winds do blow ;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

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.

T. Campbell.

XC.

THE SHAMROCK.

HROUGH Erin's Isle

To sport awhile,

As Love and Valour wandered,

With Wit, the sprite,

Whose quiver bright

A thousand arrows squandered,

Where'er they pass,

A triple grass

Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming,

As softly green

As emeralds seen

Through purest crystal gleaming,

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock !

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

Says Valour, 'See
They spring for me,
Those leafy gems of morning!'
Says Love, 'No no,

For me they grow,

My fragrant path adorning.'

But Wit perceives

The triple leaves,
And cries, 'Oh! do not sever
A type, that blends
Three godlike friends,

Love, Valour, Wit for ever!'

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

So firmly fond

May last the bond

They wove that morn together,
And ne'er may fall

One drop of gall

On Wit's celestial feather.

May Love, as twine

His flowers divine,

Of thorny falsehood weed 'em ;

May Valour ne'er

His standard rear

Against the cause of Freedom!

Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!

Chosen leaf

Of Bard and Chief,

Old Erin's native Shamrock!

T. Moore.

XCI.

YANKEE DOODLE.

YANKEE boy is trim and tall,
And never over fat, Sir;

At dance and frolic, hop and ball,
As nimble as a rat, Sir.

Yankee doodle guard your coast,
Yankee doodle dandy,

Fear not then, nor threat nor boast,
Yankee doodle dandy.

He's always out on training day,
Commencement or Election;

At truck and trade he knows the way
Of thriving to perfection.

Yankee doodle, &c.

His door is always open found,
His cider of the best, Sir,

His board with pumpkin pie is crowned,
And welcome every guest, Sir.
Yankee doodle, &c.

Though rough and little is his farm,
That little is his own, Sir,

His heart is strong, his heart is warm,
'Tis truth and honour's throne, Sir.
Yankee doodle, &c.

His Country is his pride and boast,
He'll ever prove true blue, Sir,
When called upon to give his toast,
'Tis Yankee doodle doo, Sir.

Yankee doodle guard your coast,
Yankee doodle dandy,

Fear not then, nor threat nor boast,
Yankee doodle dandy.

Shickburg.

XCII.

LORD RANDAL.

WHERE have ye been, Lord Randal, my son?
O, where have ye been, my handsome young

man ?'

'I have been to the wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.'

'Where got ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where got ye your dinner, my handsome young man?' 'I dined with my love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.'

'What got ye to dinner, Lord Randal, my son? What got ye to dinner, my handsome young man?'

I got eels boiled in broth; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.'

'And where are your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?

And where are your bloodhounds, my handsome young

man ?'

'O, they swelled and they died; mother, make my bed

soon,

For I'm weary with hunting, and fain would lie down.'

'O, I fear ye are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son !
O, I fear ye are poisoned, my handsome young man !'
O, yes, I am poisoned! mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down.'
Old Ballad.

M