For Britannia, just Britannia, They may writhe, for we have galled them See, uprear'd our holy standard! Crowd around it, gallant hearts! What! should Britain's fame be slandered As by fault on our parts? Let the rabid Frenchman threaten, Let the mad invader come, We will hunt them out of Britain, For Britannia, dear Britannia, Wakes our chorus evermoreRule, Britannia! Rule, Britannia! Conqueror over sea and shore. Rise then, patriots! name endearing, Flock from Scotland's moors and dales, From the green, glad fields of Erin, From the mountain homes of Wales,RISE! for sister England calls you, RISE! our common weal to serve, RISE! while now the song enthralls you, Thrilling every vein and nerve, Hail, Britannia! hail, Britannia! THE EMIGRANT SHIP. FOR MUSIC. FAR away, far away, Cruel ship,-to look so gay Bearing the exiles far away. Sad and sore, sad and sore, Many a fond heart bleeds at the core, Bitter sorrow, sad and sore. Many years, many years At best will they battle with perils and fears; Cruel pilot, for he steers The exiles away for many years. Long ago, long ago! For the days that are gone their tears shall flow: Cruel hour,-to tear them so From all they cherished long ago. Be proud, as thy deserts are great,— THE ASSURANCE OF OVID. Now have I done my work!-which not Jove's ire My name shall never die: but through all time, Yea, if the bodings of my spirit give POST-LETTERS. LOTTERY tickets every day, And ever drawn a blank ! Morn by morn, and week by week, They cheat us, or amuse, Whilst on we fondly hope, and seek Some stirring daily news. The heedless postman on his path He bears the seeds of life and death, I hope what hope I not ?-vague things I dread-as vague imaginings, Fame's sunshine, fortune's golden dews May now be hovering o'er,Or the pale shadow of ill news Be cowering at my door! O Mystery, master-key to life, And tempt thy perilous power; See, on my neighbour's threshold stands Yon careless common man, Bearing, perchance, in those coarse hands, My Being's altered plan! My germs of pleasure, or of pain, Of trouble, or of peace, May there lie thick as drops of rain Who knoweth? may not loves be dead,Or those we loved laid low,- * Who knoweth ? may not wealth be fled, And all the world my foe? |