And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space between.

"Hearts of oak! our captains cried; when each

gun,

From its adamantine lips,

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

Again! again! again!

And the havock did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer, the Dane,
To our cheering, sent us back:

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :

Then ceased—and all is wail,
As they strike the shatter'd sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hailed them o'er the wave;
"Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save :-
So peace instead of death let us bring;
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king."

Then Denmark bless'd our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day;
While the sun look'd shining bright,

O'er a wide and woful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

While the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died;
With the gallant good Riou:

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!

CAMPBELL,

WH

35. BOADICEA.

HEN the British warrior Queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought with an indignant mien
Counsel of her country's gods:

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Ev'ry burning word he spoke
Full of rage, and full of grief:

"Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

"Rome shall perish-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

"Rome, for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

"Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.

"Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

"Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they."

Such the bard's prophetic words
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending, as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow;
Rush'd to battle, fought, and died:
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

"Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heav'n awards the vengeance due:

Empire is on us bestow'd,

Shame and ruin wait for you."

COWPER.

THER

36. THE BUILDERS.

[AN EASTERN LEGEND.]

HERE'S an isle far off, under India's skies, Where the mariner oft at eve descries, When the heavens are calm, and the winds asleep, Dark ruins beneath the shining deep, Of towers up-built, as the tale is told, By Lords of that isle, in days of old; Who, aping the Babel-builders' skill, Heap'd stone on stone, aspiring still, Till, lodged aloft on their piles of pride, Earth, sea, and heaven, these Lords defied.

But little they knew, when towering so,
What a mighty power was at work below,
For on land usurp'd from the Giant Sea
They had built their halls of dignity,
Nor dreamt, while high in air they slept,
Of the world of waters, that round them swept,
And the working waves, that day by day
Were mining their massive mounds away.

In vain did the wise, whose prescient ear
The coming crash in each breeze could hear,
Forewarn these Lords of the lofty towers,
How vast were the deep's encroaching powers,
How mighty the waves of that angry sea,
Coming like crested chivalry;

It was all in vain-unmoved they stood,
Each like Canute to the swelling flood
Saying, "Thou com'st not to this spot;
But the surging waters heard them not.