Then when you're safe from danger, riding
In some welcome port or bay,
Hope be the anchor you confide in,

And care awhile enslumber'd lay;
Or, when each can's with liquor flowing,
And good fellowship prevails,

Let each true heart, with rapture glowing,
Drink success unto our sails.

THE LAND, BOYS, WE LIVE IN.

From the "Myrtle and the Vine," vol. ii.

SINCE our foes to invade us have long been preparing, 'Tis clear they consider we've something worth sharing, And for that mean to visit our shore;

It behoves us, however, with spirit to meet 'em,
And though 'twill be nothing uncommon to beat 'em,
We must try how they'll take it once more,
So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given-
Here's England for ever, the land, boys, we live in!
So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given—
Here's England for ever, huzza!

Here's a health to our tars on the wide ocean ranging,
Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging,
We'll on shipboard and join in the fight;
And when with the foe we are firmly engaging,
Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,
On our country we'll think with delight:

So fill, fill your glasses, &c.

On that throne where once Alfred in glory was seated,
Long, long may our king by his people be greeted;
Oh! to guard him we'll be of one mind.
May religion, law, order, be strictly defended,
And continue the blessings they first were intended,
In union the nation to bind!

So fill, fill your glasses, &c.

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

S. J. ARNOLD. (From the Opera of "The Americans.")

RECITATIVE.

O'ER Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppressed,

Britannia mourns her hero, now at rest;

But those bright laureis ne'er shall fade with years, Whose leaves are watered by a nation's tears,

AIR.

'Twas in Trafalgar's bay

We saw the Frenchmen lay;

Each heart was bounding then.

We scorn'd the foreign yoke,

Our ships were British oak,

And hearts of oak our men.

Our Nelson mark'd them on the wave,
Three cheers our gallant seamen gave,
Nor thought of home and beauty.
Along the line this signal ran—
England expects that every man
This day will do his duty."

And now the cannons roar
Along the affrighted shore;

Brave Nelson led the way:
His ship the Victory named;
Long be that Victory famed!

For victory crown'd the day.

But dearly was that conquest bought,
Too well the gallant hero fought

For England, home, and beauty.
He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,
'England shall find that every man
This day will do his duty!"

At last the fatal wound,
Which shed dismay around,

The hero's breast received:
"Heav'n fights on our side,
The day's our own," he cried;

"Now, long enough I've liv'd.

In honour's cause my life was passed,
In honour's cause I fall at last,

For England, home, and beauty!"
Thus ending life as he began,
England confess'd that every man
That day had done his duty.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

THOMAS CAMPBELL, born 1777, died 1844.

YE Mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow:

While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain wave,

Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,-

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow:

When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do 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 ceased to blow:
When the fiery fight is heard no more,

And the storm has ceased to blow.

Mrs. Ireland, who saw much of Campbell at this time (1799), mentions that it was in the musical evenings at her mother's house, that he appeared to derive the greatest enjoyment. At these soirées his favourite song was "Ye Gentlemen of England," with the music of which he was particularly struck, and determined to write new words for it. Hence this noble and stirring lyric of "Ye Mariners of England," part of which, if not all, he is said to have composed after one of these family parties. It was not, however, until after he had retired to Ratisbon, and felt his patriotism kindled by the announcement of war with Denmark, that he finished the original sketch, and sent it home to Mr. Perry, of the "Morning Chronicle."-Life of Thomas Campbell, by W. Beattie M.D.

THE ARETHUSA.

PRINCE HOARE, born 1754, died 1834.

COME, all ye jolly sailors bold,

Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold-
Huzza to the Arethusa !

She is a frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemm'd the dashing wave:
Her men are staunch

To their fav'rite launch,

And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike, we'll all expire,
On board of the Arethusa.

'Twas with the spring fleet she went out,
The English Channel to cruise about,

When four French sail, in shore so about,
Bore down on the Arethusa.

The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie-
The Arethusa seem'd to fly;

Not a sheet or a tack,

Or a brace did she slack;

Though the Frenchman laugh'd, and thought it stuff;
But they knew not the handful of men, how tough,
On board of the Arethusa.

On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance,

On board of the Arethusa.

Our captain hail'd the Frenchman, "Ho!" The Frenchman then cried out "Hollo!" "Bear down, d'ye see,

To our admiral's lee."

No, no," says the Frenchman, "that can't be;" "Then I must lug you along with me," Says the saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchman's land;
We forced them back upon the strand;
For we fought till not a stick would stand
Of the gallant Arethusa.

And now we've driv'n the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill a glass

To his fav'rite lass;

A health to the captains and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew,
On board of the Arethusa.

THE ORIGIN OF NAVAL ARTILLERY.

THOMAS DIBDIN.

WHEN Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove
In Etna's roaring glow,
Neptune petition'd he might prove
Their use and power below;
But finding in the boundless deep
Their thunders did but idly sleep,
He with them arm'd Britannia's hand,
To guard from foes her native land.
Long may she hold the glorious right,

And when through circling flame
She darts her thunder in the fight,

May justice guide her aim!
And when opposed in future wars,
Her soldiers brave and gallant tars
Shall launch her fires from every hand
On every foe to Britain's land.

L