Now struggling in the roaring main- Thy soft and feeling heart with fear; For thee, Heaven shields my head from harm, To save such innocence a tear. LINES ADAPTED TO A FAVOURITE MILITARY AIR. HARK, hark! the drums afar, And the loud clarion's angry sound, Announce th' approaching war; The steeds in thunder bound: Unfurl'd the banners glare on high; The roar of cannon rends the sky, And rocks the ground. Fires flash, smoke whirls, and bullets fly, "To kill or wound." And what, though battle's doom Suppress the youthful warrior's breath! Could Sloth avoid the tomb ! Can Flight escape from Death! What though, where we may sink in sleep, O'er the green turf no marble weep, No scutcheon wave! We ask not such reward: Fair Fame and smiling Virtue guard The hero's grave. ON THE DEATH OF MR. JAMES VALENTINE.* YE clouds that in tempestuous grandeur driven, Yes, ye rude rocks, the lingering sounds return, Wafting the wild notes of funereal song. Him deaf to mortal plaint, and mortal praise; *The Author's cousin german and intimate friend; a person of great modesty and worth; who, after serving five or six years as a midshipman ìn the British navy, and signalizing his valour in many battles, lost his life in a storm in 1785, in the twentythird year of his age. To account for one passage in the poem, it is necessary to add, that his body was thrown on the land, and there buried. catar ca 15 mrach: erse nuela. : cesc incomitatis et exspes. At Guante not as maltem succumbere mora. he... cercus animi cum distratiar, unquam Cor: absentis reputa Deia nomer lie m. tum lacremas renutans defieba: acerbic LxLiis angorem meditabitur a dotore Fare age, non terrore animum torquebere, cun, jam i ndarum accumulant montana cacumina venti. Cum rutiio immicuit fulgur splendore vibratumi, 1 : fremit horridor tonitru: reboante procella! Diet certe tibi mens formidine, certe Tum muse tandem sortem plorabis amantis, Com memor mn mentem revocaveris omnia nostra 4a vota, omnemque ubi non felicis amorem. T'um tibi mens fallax juvenem depin SONG. BY SET BY MR.JACKSON. FAR from the arms of her I love, In fancy see his sorrows stream? Say, will not fear a pang inspire, at the swain est verge, |