To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; The Muses, still with freedom found, 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 !— While the stormy winds do blow ; And the stormy winds do blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, When the stormy winds do blow ; The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, When the storm has ceased to blow : 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 For me they grow, My fragrant path adorning.' But Wit perceives The triple leaves, 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, 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, At dance and frolic, hop and ball, Yankee doodle guard your coast, Fear not then, nor threat nor boast, He's always out on training day, At truck and trade he knows the way Yankee doodle, &c. His door is always open found, His board with pumpkin pie is crowned, Though rough and little is his farm, His heart is strong, his heart is warm, His Country is his pride and boast, Yankee doodle guard your coast, Fear not then, nor threat nor boast, Shickburg. XCII. LORD RANDAL. WHERE have ye been, Lord Randal, my son? 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 ! M |