Britannia needs no bulwark,

No powers along the steep;
Her march is on the mountain wave,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the flood 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 danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors!

Our song and feast shall flow,

To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceas'd to blow ;: When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceas'd to blow..

HOHENLINDEN..

CAMPBELL.

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly!

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery!.

By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And, furious, every charger neigh'd
To join the dreadful revelry!

Then shook the hills, with thunder riv'n;
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n;
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery!

But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stained snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

"Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout in their sulph'rous canopy!

The combat deepens.-On, ye brave!
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few, shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet,

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre !

OF Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown; And her arms along the deep proudly shone, By each gun the lighted brand,

In bold determin'd hand;

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.

Like Leviathans, afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;

While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line.

It was Ten of April morn by the chime, As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;

And the boldest held his breath

For a time.

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

"Hearts of oak!" our Captain cried; when each gun,

From its adamantine lips,

Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun,

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack;

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back :

Their shots along the deep slowly boom,Then ceas'd;-and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail;
Or in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.-

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hail'd them o'er the wave;

"Ye are brothers! Ye are men!

"And we conquer but to save;

"So peace instead of death let us bring: "But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, "With the crews, at England's feet, "And make submission meet

"To our King."

Then Denmark bless'd our Chief,

That he gave her wounds repose;

And the sounds of joy and grief,

From her people wildly rose.

As death withdrew his shades from the day, While the sun look'd smiling bright,

O'er a veil'd and woeful sight,

Where the fires of fun'ral light

Died away.

Now joy, Old England, raise,

For the tidings of thy might

By the festal cities' blaze,

While the wine-cup shines in light;

And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore.-

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride,
Once so fatal and so true;
On the deck of fame that died,

With the gallant, good Riou:*

Soft sighs the winds of heav'n o'er their grave! While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave.

*Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good, by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his dispatches.

Bruce's Address to his Army at the

BATTLE OF BANNOCK-BURN.

BURNS.

SCOTS! wha hae wi' Wallace bled;
Scots! wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victorie!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;

See approach proud Edward's power-
Edward! chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,