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Whose melting tones of tender woe
Fall soft as evening's summer dew,
That bathes the pinks and harebells blue

Which in the vales of Teviot blow.

Such was the song that soothed to rest,
Far in the Green Isle of the West,

The Celtic warrior's parted shade;
Such are the lonely sounds that sweep
O'er the blue bosom of the deep,

When shipwrecked mariners are laid.

Ah! sure as Hindu legends tell,
When music's tones the bosom swell,

The scenes of former life return;
Ere, sunk beneath the morning star,
We left our parent climes afar,

Immured in mortal forms to mourn.

Or if, as ancient sages ween,
Departed spirits, half unseen,

Can mingle with the mortal throng, 'Tis when from heart to heart we roll The deep-toned music of the soul,

That warbles in our Scottish song.

I hear, I hear, with awful dread,
The plaintive music of the dead !

They leave the amber fields of day :
Soft as the cadence of the wave,
That murmurs round the mermaid's grave,

They mingle in the magic lay.

Sweet sounds! that oft have soothed to rest
The sorrows of my guileless breast,

And charmed away mine infant tears:
Fond memory shall your strains repeat,
Like distant echoes, doubly sweet,

That in the wild the traveller hears.

And thus the exiled Scotian maid,
By fond alluring love betrayed

To visit Syria's date-crowned shore,
In plaintive strains that soothed despair,
Did “Bothwell's banks that bloom so fair,"

And scenes of early youth, deplore.

Soft siren! whose enchanting strain
Floats wildly round my raptured brain,

I bid your pleasing haunts adieu !
Yet, fabling fancy oft shall lead
My footsteps to the silver Tweed,
Through scenes that I no more must view.



UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn-
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return,
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour!
0! then thy kingdom comes, Immortal Power!
What though each spark of earth-bom rapture fly,
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye,
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life's eternal day-

Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin,
And all the Phænix spirit burns within !

0, deep enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes !
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh,
It is a dread and awful thing to die !
Mysterious worlds, untravelled by the sun!
Where time's far-wandering tide has never run,
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.
'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud !
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks and hovers o'er the dark abyss !

Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb!
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul !
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er—the pangs of Nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of Heaven, undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallowed anthem, sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,


When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill !

Soul of the just! companion of the dead !
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose;
Doomed on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doomed, like thee, to travel and return.-
Hark! from the world's exploding centre driven,
With sounds that shook the firmament of heaven,
Careers the fiery giant, fast and far,
On bickering wheels and adamantine car;
From planet whirled to planet more remote,
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought;
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run,
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun!
So hath the traveller of earth unfurled
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world;
And, o'er the path, by mortal never trod,
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God!



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 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 bulwark,

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

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