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By ALFRED's Spirit, No !

-Ring, ring the loud alarms ;
Ye drums awake, ye clarions blow,

Ye heralds, shout “ To arms !"

To arms our Heroes fly :

And, leading on their lines,
The BRITISH BANNER in the sky;

The star of conquest shines.

The lowering battle forms

Its terrible array ; Like clashing clouds in mountain-storms,

That thunder on their way.

The rushing armies meet ;

And while they pour their breath, The strong earth shudders at their feet,

The day grows dim with death.

-Ghosts of the mighty dead ! Your children's hearts inspire : And while they on your ashes tread,

Rekindle all your fire.

The dead to life return;

Our Father's spirits rise ! My brethren ! in your breasts they burn,

They sparkle in your eyes.

Now launch upon the foe

The lightning of your rage !
Strike, strike the assailing giants low,

The TITANS of the age.

They yield,—they break,--they dy ;

The victory is won : Pursue ! they faint--they fall,--they die :

O stay ! -the work is done.

SPIRIT OF VENGEANCE ! rest :

Sweet MERCY cries, “ Forbear!”
She clasps the vanquish'd to her breast in

Thou wilt not pierce them there?

Thus vanish BRITAIN's foes
From her consuming eye ;
But rich be the reward of those
Who conquer,

those who die!

O'ershadowing laurels deck

The living HERO's brows ;
But lovelier wreaths entwine his neck.

-His children and his spouse !

Exulting o'er his lot,

The dangers he has braved ;
He clasps the dear ones, hails the cat,

Which his own valour saved.

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DAUGHTERS OF ALBION ! weep;

On this triumphant plain,
Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep,

For you and freedom slain.

0! gently close the eye

That loved to look on you ;
O seal the lip whose earliest sigh,

Whose latest breath was true :

With knots of sweetest flowers

Their winding-sheet perfume ; And wash their wounds with true-love showers,

And dress them for the tomb.

For beautiful in death

The WARRIOR's corse appears, Embalm'd by fond AFFECTION's breath,

And bathed in WOMAN's tears.

-Give me the death of those Who for their country die ; And O be mine like their repose,

When cold and low they lie !

Their loveliest mother Earth

Enshrines the fallen brave,
In her sweet lap who gave them birth

They find their tranquil grave.

THE VIGIL OF ST. MARK.

RETURNING from their evening walk,

On yonder ancient stile,
In sweet, romantic, tender talk,

Two lovers paused awhile :

EDMUND, the monarch of the dale,

All conscious of his powers ; ELLA, the lily of the vale,

The rose of AUBURN's bowers !

In airy Love's delightful bands

He held her heart in vain ;
The Nymph denied her willing hands

To HYMEN's awful chain.

“ Ah! why,” said he, our bliss delay!

“ Mine ELLA! why so cold ? 6. Those who but love from day to day,

" From day to day grow old.

66 The bounding arrow cleaves the sky,

" Nor leaves a trace behind ; 6. And single lives like arrows fly,

" -They vanish thro' the wind.

“ In wedlock's sweet endearing lot

" Let us improve the scene, 66 That some may be, when we are not,

" To tell that we have been."

66 'Tis now,” replied the village Belle,

66 Saint Mark's mysterious eve ; * And all that old traditions tell

I tremblingly believe :

* How, when the midnight signal tolle,

66 Along the church-yard green, 66 A mournful train of sentenced souls

6 In winding-sheets are seen!

66 The ghosts of all whom DEATA shall doom

66 Within the coming year, “ In pale procession walk the gloom,

66 Amid the silence drear !

66

“ If EDMUND, bold in conscious might,

By love severely tried, 6+ Can brave the terrors of to-night,

6 ELLA will be his bride."

She spake,--and, like the nimble fawn,

From EDMUND's presence fled : He sought, across the rural lawn,

The dwelling of the dead !

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