They, by a strange frenzy driven, | fight for pc w'er, ` for plun'der, and extended rule. We, for our coun'try, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power | which they hate. We serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we adore, !| |

Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress; where'er they pause in am'ity, | affliction mourns their friendship. They boast-they come but to improve our state, | enlarge our thoughts', |· and free us from the yoke of error! Yesid - they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves' the slaves of passion, | av'arice, | and

pride. | They offer us their protection. Yes, such pro| | tection as vultures give to lambs', - | covering, and | devour.ing them! They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited, and proved, for the desperate chance of something better which they prom ise. I

Be our plain answer this. :| The throne we honour | is the people's choice the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy the faith we follow ! teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hopes of bliss | beyond the grave. T Tell your invaders this'; | and tell them too', | we seek no change; | and least of all', | such change as they' would bring us. |

a

CHILDE HAROLD'S ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
(BYRON.)

O that the desert were my dwell'ing-place, |
With one fair spirit for my minister, |
That I might all forget the human race', |
And, hating no one, I love but only her!

e Plain an

Mỏn′nårk; not monnuck. b Move in anger; not mo-vin-nang ger. < Pause in amity; not paw-zin-nam'ity. d Yis. swer; not plain-nan'swer.

Rêv'èr-èns; not revurunce.

Ye elements! in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exal'ted | can_ye not | Accord me such a being? | Do I err ! In deeming such inhabit many a spot? | Though with them to converse, can rarely be our lot. ¦

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,, | There is a rap'ture on the lonely shore', | There is society, where none intrudes | By the deep sea, and music in its roar. I I love not man the less, but nature more', | From these, our interviews, in which I steal | From all I may be, or have been before., | To mingle with the u'niverse, | and feel | What I can ne'er express', | yet cannot all conceal,⋅ |

Roll on', thou deep, and dark-blue ocean-roll!| Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; | Man marks the earth' with ruin his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain | The wrecks are all thy' deed, nor doth remain | -A shadow of man's ravage, | save his own, | When, for a moment, like a drop of rain', | He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan', Without a grave, unknell❜d`,| uncof'fin'd, and unknown.]

His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields | Are not a spoil for him, thou dost arise, | And shake him from' thee; the vile strength he wields] For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise, | Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies', | And send'st him, |'shivering in thy playful spray, | And howling to his gods', 'where haply lies | His petty hope, in some near port, or bay,° | Then dashest him again to earth':—there let him lay,.

Roll on; not roll-lon'. Bay. * Agên.

b Důst.

с

Port, or bay; not Porter

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls | Of rock-built cit'ies, | bidding nations quake, | And monarchs tremble in their capitals, | The oak leviathans | whose huge ribs make | Their clay-creator the vain title take |

Of lord of thee', and arbiter of war; | 1 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake'. Į They melt into thy yest of waves, which mar, | Alike, the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.a | Thy shores are em'pires, | chang'd in all save thee—| Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free', | And many a tyrant since; their shores obey | The stranger, slave', or savage; their decay | Has dri'd up realms to deserts:- not so thou', | Unchangeable, | save to thy wild waves' play,-| Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow Such as creation's dawn' beheld, thou rollest now. | Thou glorious mir'ror, | 'where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; | in all' time, Calm, or convuls'd in breeze', or gale', or storm, | Icing the pole', or in the torrid clime, I

Dark-heaving; | boundless, | end'less, and sublime.—| The image of eternity 'the throne |

Of the Invisible; | 'e'en from out thy slime' | The monsters of the deep are made; each zone | Obeys' thee; thou goest forth, dread', fath'omless, alōne ̧•|

SP And I have lov'd' thee, o'cean! | and my joyl
Of youthful sports, was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, on ward: | from a boy' |
I wanton'd with thy break.ers: they to me, I
Were a delight'; | and, if the fresh'ning sea |
Made them a terror- |'t was a pleasing fear, |
For I was as it were a child' of thee, I
And trusted to thy billows, far, and near, |

And laid my hand upon thy mane'- as I do here. | |

d

• Mỗnnårks ; not monnucks. Yẻst. •Ar-mà-dâz. “Trâf fal-gar

APOSTROPHE TO THE QUEEN OF FRANCE.

(BURKE.)

It is now sixteen, or seventeen years', since I saw the queen of France, | then_the_daŭphiness, at Versailles; and surely, never lighted on this orb, (which she hardly seemed to touch) | a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating, and cheering the elevated sphere | she just began to move, - | glittering like the morning star-full of life', | and splen'dour, and joy,. 'Oh what a revolution! and what a heart must I have, | to contemplate without emotion, that elevation, and that fall! | I

in

"Little did I dream', | when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, | that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace', | concealed in that bo.somlittle did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men',— in a nation of men of honour, and of cavaliers. | I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards | to avenge even a look' | that threatened her with insult. | But the age of chivalry is gone. | That of sophisters, | economists, | and calculators, | has succeeded; and the glory of Europe, is extinguished for ever.

Never, never more, | shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex,- that proud submission,- | that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart' which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted free dom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment, and heroic enterprise, is gone! It is I gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, which felt a stain like a wound, which ·! inspired courage | whilst it mitigated fero`city, which enno'bled whatever it touched; and under which, vice itself | lost half its evil, by losing all its gross.ness.

BATTLE OF WARSAW.

(CAMPBELL.)

O sacred Truth! | thy triumph ceas'd'awhile, |
And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile', |
When leagued Oppression pour'd to northern wars, |
Her whisker'd pandours, and her fierce hussars'," |
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn,|
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet-horn;
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van' |
Presaging wrath to Poland, and to man! |

Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd, |
Wide o'er the fields,ļa waste of ru'in laid

O Heav'n! he cried, my bleeding country, save! |
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave'?
What though destruction, sweep these lovely plains—|
Rise', fellow-men! | our country yet remains! |
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, |
And swear for her to live-|with her to die, ! |

He said and on the rampart-heights, array'd |
His trusty warriors, | few, but undismay'd; |
Firm-paced, and slow, | a horrid front they form;|
Still as the breeze', | but dreadful as the storm ; |
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, |
Revenge', or death, the watchword, and reply ; |
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm', ]
And the loud tocsin told their last alarm. |

In vain, alas! | in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank, your volley'd thun'der flew: |
O bloodiest picture in the book of Time! |
Sarmatia fell, | unwept', | without a crime; |
Found not a generous friend, | a pitying foe', |
Strength in her arms, | nor mercy in her wo!

a Pandour (French), Hungarian soldier. b Hůz-zår, one of the Hungarian horsemen, so called from the shout they generally make, at the first onset.