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Or, if the wayward winds should bluster,

Let us not give way to fear;
But let us all our patience muster,

And learn from reason how to steer;
Let Judgment keep you ever steady,

'Tis a ballast never fails :
Should dangers rise, be ever ready

To manage well the swelling sails.

Trust not too much your own opinion
While

your

vessel's under weigh;
Let good example bear dominion-

That's a compass will not stray:
When thund'ring tempests make you shudder,

Or Boreas on the surface rails,
Let good Discretion guide the rudder,

And Providence attend the sails.

Then when you're safe from danger, riding

In some welcome port or bay,
Hope be the anchor you confide in,

And care awhile enslumber'd lay;
Or, when each can's with liquor flowing,

And good fellowship prevails,
Let each true heart, with rapture glowing,

Drink success unto our sails.

THE LAND, BOYS, WE LIVE IN.

From the "Myrtle and the Vine," vol. ii. The music by Wm. REEVE.

Since our foes to invade us have long been preparing, 'Tis clear they consider we've something worth sharing,

And for that mean to visit our shore; It behoves us, however, with spirit to meet 'em, And though ’twill be nothing uncommon to beat 'em,

We must try how they'll take it once more. So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast givenHere's England for ever, the land, boys, we live in! So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast givenHere's England for ever, huzza!

Here's a health to our tars on the wide ocean ranging, Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging

We'll on shipboard and join in the fight; And when with the foe we are firmly engaging, Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,

On our country we'll think with delight: So fill, fill your glasses, &c.

On that throne where once Alfred in glory was seated, Long, long may our king by his people be greeted ;

0! to guard him we'll be of one mind. May religion, law, order be strictly defended, And continue the blessings they first were intended,

In union the nation to bind ! So fill, fill your glasses, &c.

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

S. J. ARNOLD. (From the opera of “The Americans.")

The music by JOHN BRAHAM,

RECITATIVE.

O’ER Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppress'd
Britannia mourns her hero now at rest;
But those bright laurels ne'er shall fade with years
Whose leaves are water'd by a nation's tears.

AIR.

'Twas in Trafalgar's bay
We saw the Frenchinen lay;

Each heart was bounding then.
We scorn'd the foreign yoke,
Our ships were British oak,

And hearts of oak our men.

Our Nelson mark'd them on the wave,
Three cheers our gallant seamen gave,

Nor thought of home and beauty.
Along the line this signal ran-
“ England expects that every man

This day will do his duty!"

N

And now the cannons roar
Along the affrighted shore;
Brave Nelson led the

way: His ship the Victory named; Long be that Victory famed !

For victory crown'd the day.

But dearly was that conquest bought,
Too well the gallant hero fought

For England, home, and beauty.
He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,
• England shall find that every man

This day will do his duty!”

At last the fatal wound,
Which shed dismay around,

The hero's breast received: “Heav'n fights on our side; The day's our own !” he cried :

“Now long enough I've lived. In honour's cause my life was pass'd, In honour's cause I fall at last,

For England, home, and beauty!" Thus ending life as he began : England confess'd that every man

That day had done his duty.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

THOMAS CAMPBELL, born 1777, died 1844.

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 bulwarks,

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!

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.

Mrs. Ireland, who saw much of Campbell at this time (1799), mentions that it was in the musical evenings, at her mother's house, that he appeared to derive the greatest enjoyment. At these soirées his favourite song was “Ye Gentlemen of England," with the music of which he was particularly struck, and determined to write new words for it. Hence this noble and stirring lyric of “Ye Mariners of England,” part of which, if not all, he is said to have composed after one of these family parties. It was not, however, until after he had retired to Ratisbon, and felt his patriotism kindled by the announcement of war with Denmark, that he finished the original sketch, and sent it home to Mr. Perry of the “Morning Chronicle.”—Life of Thomas Campbell, by W. Beattie, M.D.

THE ARETHUSA.

PRINCE HOARE, born 1754, died 1834. The melody founded on one more ancient, and

arranged by WILLIAM SHIELD, in the opera of the "Lock and Key."

COME, all ye jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold-

Huzza to the Arethusa !
She is a frigate tight and brave
As ever stemm’d the dashing waye;

Her men are staunch

To their fav’rite launch;
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike, we'll all expire

On board of the Arethusa.

'Twas with the spring fleet she went out,
The English Channel to cruise about
When four French sai), in shore so stout,

Bore down on the Arethusa.
The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie—
The Arethusa seem'd to fly:

Not a sheet or a tack,

Or a brace did she slack;
Though the Frenchmen laugh’d, and thought it stuff ;
But they knew not the handful of men how tough

On board of the Arethusa.

On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance

On board of the Arethusa.
Our captain hail'd the Frenchman, “ Ho!"
The Frenchman then cried out, “ Hollo!”

“ Bear down, d'ye see,

To our admiral's lee."
No, no!” says the Frenchman, “ that can't be."
“ Then I must lug you along with me,”

Says the saucy Arethusa.

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