THE MANES OF THE BRAVE.

Now that war has, in human distress, done its best; Now that, glutted with mischief, fell slaughter's at rest; Now that smiling content crowns the peasant's clean board,

And the industrious ploughshare takes place of the

sword;

In this season what care o'er the fancy shall brood?
What sigh press for vent, or what tear shall intrude?
Ah! indulge and reflect on each glorious grave—
A sigh and a tear to the manes of the brave.

Now that loud acclamations expand through the air,
And the brows of the brave are adorn'd by the fair;
Now that bands of musicians so gaily advance,
In the concert to join or enliven the dance;

At one grateful idea the tumult shall end,

The soft flute the sad cadence alone shall suspend;
And, while fancy leads on to the cold hallow'd grave,
Shall echo a sigh to the manes of the brave.

Proud award of those heroes for glory who burn,
Alike nobly honour'd the arch and the urn;
Surviving, or dying, such fame who achieve,
'Tis joy to regret, and 'tis pleasure to grieve.
Then our rapturous bosoms let gratitude swell,
While those sons of renown, who so gloriously fell,

Shall from heav'n cheer those mourners who throng near

each grave,

And dry up their tears for the manes of the brave.

THE LETTER N.

Up from a loblolly-boy none was so cute,
Of knowing things most sort I follard;
Ben Binacle learn'd me to read and dispute,
For Ben was a bit of a scholard.

Of the whole criss-cross row I in time know'd the worth;
But the dear letter N for my fancy;

For N stands for nature, and noble, and north,
Neat, nimble, nine, nineteen, and Nancy.

She soon was my wife, and I sail'd round the world,
To get prize-money where I could forage;
And for love, wheresoever our Jack was unfurl'd,
I daunted them all with my courage:

For I now read in books about heroes and fame,
And for all sorts of rows got a fancy;
Sticking still to dear N, for N stands for name,
Note, novel, neck, nothing, and Nancy.

In the midst of this bustle I lost my poor friend,
And each object around me grew hateful;

For I know'd not false heart with a fair face to blend,
Nor had larning yet made me ungrateful.

I liked my friend well, and deplored him ;-what then? My wife was the first in my fancy;

For, though B stands for buck, brother, bottom, and Ben, Yet N stands for needle and Nancy.

Well, I've weather'd life's storms, and till laid a sheer hulk

Will my absence again never shock her;

Thanks to Fortune, at sea I've no need to break bulk,

For I've plenty of shot in the locker.

Our kids play around us, and still to pursue

The letter so dear to my fancy,

Though nineteen twice told noons and nights but renew The nice natty notion of Nancy.

EACH HIS OWN PILOT.

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I was saying to Jack, as we talk'd t'other day
About lubbers and snivelling elves,

That if people in life did not steer the right way,
They had nothing to thank but themselves.

Now, when a man's caught by those mermaids the girls,
With their flatt'ring palaver and smiles,

He runs, while he's list'ning to their fal de rals,
Bump ashore on the Scilly Isles.

Thus, in steering in life, as in steering with us,

To one course in your conduct resort,

In foul winds, leaving luff and no near, keep her thus; In honour's line ready,

When fair, keep her steady,

And neither to starboard incline nor to port.

If he's true in his dealings, life's wind to defy,
And the helm has a trim and right scope,
Not luffing, but keeping the ship full and by,
He may weather the Cape of Good Hope.