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Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
And laid her on her side.
And she was overset;
With all her crew complete.
Toll for the brave !
Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His work of glory done.
No tempest gave the shock;
She ran upon no rock.
His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen
With twice four hundred men.
Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by our foes !
The tear that England owes.
And she may float again,
And plough the distant main.
His victories are o'er;
Shall plough the wave no more.
IN SUBMERSIONEM Navioni Cui GEORGIUS REGALE NOMEN
PLANGIMUS fortes. Periêre fortes,
Navis innitens lateri jacebat,
Reddite amicis !
Tollere ad astra.
SONG ON PEACE
AIR—“ My fond Shepherds of late” No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue; Oh Happiness ! not to be found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu ! I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
In the regions of pleasure and taste; I have sought thee, and seemed to possess,
But have proved thee a vision at last.
An humble ambition and hope
The voice of true wisdom inspires ; 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope
And the summit of all our desires.
Peace may be the lot of the mind
That seeks it in meekness and love; But rapture and bliss are confined
To the glorified spirits above.
THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS ;
OR, LABOUR IN VAIN
I sing of a journey to Clifton
We would have performed if we could,
Slee sla slud,
Stuck in the mud,
So away we went, slipping and sliding,
Hop, hop, à la mode de deux frogs,
Wheels, no doubt,
Go briskly about, But they clatter and rattle and make such a rout!
How finely the weather improves !
How slowly and stately it moves!”
“Pshaw! never mind,
'Tis not in the wind, We are travelling south and shall leave it behind.”
For folks may be pounded and penned,
To stir half a mile to an end."
“The longer we stay,
The longer we may;
If I fall, what a way I should roll !
Stop! stop! I am sunk in a hole!”
“Nay, never care !
'Tis a common affair; You'll not be the last that will set a foot there.”
On what it were better to do;
I think we shall never get through."
But, by the bye,
“But should we get there, how shall we get home ?
What a terrible deal of bad road we have past !
O this lane !
Now it is plain