SHADOWS OF BEAUTY.

Shadows of Beauty
Shadows of Power,
Rise to your duty,
This is the hour;
Walk, lovely and pliant,

From the depth of this fountain, As the cloud shapen giant

Bestrides the Hartz mountain!

Come as ye were

That our eyes may behold

The model in air

Of the form I will mould, Bright as the Isis,

When the ether is spanned! Such his desire is;

Such my command.

Demons heroic!

Demons, who wore

The form of stoic,

Or sophist of Yore;
Or the shape of each victor
From Macedon's boy,

To each bright Roman picture,
Who breath'd to destroy!
Shadows of Beauty!

LIVE AND BE JOLLY.

Through deserts we roam, yet plenty ye-find, With a paunch jolly fed, and a jolly good mind, No mountains we climb-o'er the ocean we roll, Caravan trading sinners must pay us our toll. So equal our justice, all share the same fate,

And each leave a trifle to mend our estate. To be nice about trifles is trifling with folly, The right hand of lite is to live and be jolly. The convent we scale, and we find at the shrine Fat pullets, and triars, and flaskets of wine, Pious fathers, we cry, let your care be the soul, Since you preach up lean fat-let us have the full bowl;

So pies, pullets, and flaskets, we merrily take, While they shudder with fear, with laughter we shake,

To be nice about trifles is trifling and folly,
The right end of life is to live and be jolly.

LOVE AND LAURA.

On a bank, where circling trees
Kindly form'd a verdant shade,
Laura lay, the noontide breeze

Had lull'd asleep the gentle maid.

Love, on sportive wing, there flying,
Seeking objects for his skill,
Ey'd the fair one, and while eying,"
Wished her subject to his will.

His keen dart then carefully

The archer choose, and laugh'd the while; But when aiming at her, she

Awoke, and saw the urchin's guile.

In vain, she cried, is all your skill,
Compar'd with mine, to touch the heart;
One look of mine, blind urchin will
Wound surer than your keenest dart.

THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL.

The martial pomp, the mournful train,
Bespeak some honour'd hero slain :
The obsequies denote him brave;
Hark! the volley o'er his grave:
The awful knell sounds low and lorn,
Yet cease, ye kindred brave, to mourn.

The plaintive fife and muffled drum,
The man may summon to bis silent home;
The soldier lives his deed to trace,
Behold the Seraph Glory place,

The ever-living laurel round his sacred tomb.

Nor deem it hard, ye thoughtless gay,
Short is man's longest earthly stay,
Our little hour of life we try,
And then depart-we're born to die.
Then lose no moments, dear to fame,
They longest live, who live in name.

The plaintive fife, &c.

STEADY SHE GOES, ALL'S WELL!

The British tar no peril knows,

But, fearless, braves the stormy deep;

The ship's his cradle of repose,

And sweetly rocks him to his sleep He, though the raging surges swell, In his hammock swings,

When the steerman sings,
Steady she goes, all's well!

While to the main top yard he springs,
An English vessel heaves in view:
He asks but it no letter brings
From bonny Kate or lovely Sue.
Then sighs,he for his native dell,
Yet to hope he clings,

When the steersman sings,

Steady she goes, all's well!

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

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 tempests blow,
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirit of your fathers

Shall start from every wave,

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And the ocean was their grave,
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow,
While the battle rages loud, and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,

Nor towers along the s'eep, Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep, With thunders from her native oak She squalls the floods below

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow, When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn,

Till dangers troubled night depart
And the star of peace return.

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.