See them once more, with ardent hearts ad And rend the laurels of insulting France; To brave Castile their potent aid supply. And wave, O Freedom! wave thy sword Is there no bard of heavenly power To thrill, to rouse, to animate the bre Like Shakspeare o'er the secret ming And call each wayward passion to Is there no bard, imbued with hall To wake the chords of Ossian's m Whose numbers breathing all hi The patriot's name to ages migh Rise, Inspiration! rise! be the And mount, like Uriel, on the Oh, could my muse on And sweep with rapture's string! Could she the bosom enc Iberian bands! wi To pour confusion Intrepid spirits, ho The hero's fire, the Not to secure don Ye wave the flag Fired by the i He bleed His dirge t His closin The flush ་ the same day beheld their warriors dead, severeign captive, and their glories fled ! ke the lightning's evanescent fire, saring, dreadful-only to expire! then, while prostrate Gaul confess'd her eight, a's planet shed meridian light! rss on famed St Quintin's deathful day, an spirit bore the prize away— als that still their verdure shall retain, And trophies beaming high in glory's fane ! And lo! her heroes, warm with kindred flame, proudly emulate their fathers' fame; with the soul of patriot-valour glow, rush impetuous to repel the foe; Wave the bright falchion, lift the beamy spear, And bid oppressive Gallia learn to fear! Be theirs, be theirs unfading honour's crown, And ancient wrongs forgotten sleep in peace. Defend the injured, and avenge the slain ! mind! Oh! if at midnight round thy regal bed, Go, bid the rolling orbs thy mandate hear- Ye sons of Albion! first in danger's field, The sword of Britain and of truth to wield! Still prompt the injured to defend and save, Appal the despot, and assist the brave; Who now intrepid lift the generous blade, The cause of Justice and Castile to aid! Ye sons of Albion! by your country's name, Her crown of glory, her unsullied fame; Oh! by the shades of Cressy's martial dead, By warrior-bands at Agincourt who bled; By honours gain'd on Blenheim's fatal plain, By those in Victory's arms at Minden slain; By the bright laurels WOLFE immortal won, Undaunted spirit! valour's favourite son! By Albion's thousand, thousand deeds sublime, Renown'd from zone to zone, from clime to clime; Ye British heroes! may your trophies raise A deathless monument to future days! Oh! may your courage still triumphant rise, Exalt the "lion banner" to the skies! Transcend the fairest names in history's page, The brightest actions of a former age; The reign of Freedom let your arms restore, And bid oppression fall-to rise no more! Then soon returning to your native isle, May love and beauty hail you with their smile; For you may conquest weave th' undying wreath, And fame and glory's voice the song of rapturo breathe! Ah! when shall mad ambition cease to rage? Ah! when shall war his demon-wrath assuage? When, when, supplanting discord's iron reign, Shall mercy wave her olive-wand again? Not till the despot's dread career is closed, And might restrain'd and tyranny deposed! Return, sweet Peace, ethereal form benign! Fair blue-eyed seraph! balmy power divine! Descend once more! thy hallow'd blessings bring, Wave thy bright locks, and spread thy downy wing! Luxuriant plenty, laughing in thy train, Shall crown with glowing stores the desert-plain: 743 DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS, AND OTHER POEMS. another and much smaller volume, entitled The Domestic Fictions, and other Poems, was given to the worldthe last that was to appear with the name of Felicia Browne; ir, in the summer of the same year, its author exchanged that appelation for the one under which she has become so mach more generally known. Captain Hemans had returned to Wales in the preceding year, when the acquaintance was renewed which had begun so long before at Gwrych; and as the sentiments then mutually awakened continued bered, no further opposition was made to a union, on which (however little in accordance with the dictates of wry prudence) the happiness of both parties seemed so eatly to depend.-Memoir, p. 24.] THE SILVER LOCKS. ADDRESSED TO AN AGED FRIEND. | THOUGH youth may boast the curls that flow In sunny waves of auburn glow; As graceful on thy hoary head Has Time the robe of honour spread, As frost-work on the trees display'd Youth's vernal rose decay'd! To grace the nymph whose tresses play Less white the summer cloud sublime, Nor do Belinda's lovelier seem Long may the graceful honours smile, Long, long, ye snowy ringlets, wave! And as the parting beams of day Thus, on the snow that crowns thy head, August 18, 1809. TO MY MOTHER. IF e'er from human bliss or woe If e'er my heart has learn'd to know The generous wish or prayer; Who sow'd the germ with tender hand? And oh! if e'er I sigh'd to claim The glowing wreath of praise; And gid thy sun-bright days! Yet not that splendour, pomp, and power Diffusing joy and peace; The tear-drop, grateful, pure, and bright, For thee would beam with softer light Than all the diamond's crystal rays, Than all the emerald's lucid blaze; And joys of heaven would thrill thy heart To bid one bosom-grief depart, One tear, one sorrow cease! Then, oh! may Heaven, that loves to bless, To light the cloudy path of woe; Where indigence is doom'd to dwell; But ah! if Fate should still deny Complains with soft entrancing number, When the lone storm awakes the wire, And bids enchantment cease to slumber; So filial love, with soothing voice, TO MY YOUNGER BROTHER, ON HIS RETURN FROM SPAIN, AFTER THE FATAL RETREAT UNDER SIR JOHN MOORE, AND THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA. THOUGH dark are the prospects and heavy the hours, Though life is a desert, and cheerless the way; Yet still shall affection adorn it with flowers, Whose fragrance shall never decay! And lo! to embrace thee, my Brother! she flies, With artless delight, that no words can bespeak; With a sunbeam of transport illuming her eyes, With a smile and a glow on her check! From the trophies of war, from the spear and the shield, From scenes of destruction, from perils unblest; Oh! welcome again, to the grove and the field, To the vale of retirement and rest. Then warble, sweet muse! with the lyre and the voice, Oh! gay be the measure and sportive the strain; For nya ni ny guns rejoice To meet thee, ny Brother, a When the heroes of Albion, still valiant and true,; How constant, how fervent, how pure was my prayer, When shall we meet again?-with glowing ray, tear, And sings benignly still-that day is near! That Heaven would protect thee from danger Where sacred ties his manly worth endear, and harm; That angels of mercy would shield thee with care, How sad and how often descended the tear, (Ah, long shall remembrance the image retain ? How mournful the sigh, when I trembled with fear I might never behold thee again! But the prayer was accepted, the sorrow is o'er. And the tear-drop is fled, like the dew on the rose; Thy dangers, our tears, have endear'd thee the more, And my bosom with tenderness glows To faith still true, affection still sincere! Now distant far, amidst the intrepid host, Say, do thy thoughts, my Brother, fondly stray And oh! when the dreams, the enchantments of Dear social scenes, departed joys renew; Bright and transient, have fled like the rain bow away; My affection for thee, still unfading in truth, No time can impair it, no change can destroy, It will smile in the sunshine of hope and of joy, TO MY ELDEST BROTHER. (WITH THE BRITISH ARMY IN PORTUGAL.) How many a day, in various hues array'd, In softer tints delighting to retrace Each tender image and each well-known face? |