THE STOUT OLD BRITISH SHIP.
Hurrah! for the stout old British ship,
The monarch of the sea!
That bounds like a greyhound from the slip,
When the sails are loosened free!
That, spite of the storm and deadly gun,
Ne'er yet its course gave o'er;
And never knew what 'twas to run
A hostile flag before!
It long has the bulwark been of our rights,
Of our freedom still the stay;
Then give to the brave old British ship,
Three British cheers—hurrah!
When Nelson trode its quarter-deck,
Its glory was in its prime;
Victory he had at his finger-beck,
As proved in every clime:
Then England was honoured and feared by all,
And nations sung her praise;
But that is a tale we may not recall
In these degenerate days:
For the stout old ship lies idly ashore,
Laid up like a useless tree;
Its battles and cruises now are o'er,
Though it still is fit for sea!
The vaunting foreigner long has felt
Its thunders on the main,
And he smiles when he thinks the blows it dealt
Shall ne'er be dealt again.
But the spirit of Nelson is not dead,
It bounds in a hundred hearts,
And his story of fame is remembered and read,
And studied with our charts!
For cherished with care is the glory it won,
The meed of a thousand years;
And its foes will fly as they often have done,
When the stout old ship appears!
When the brave old ship, as bright as morn,
Hoists high its well-known flag;
The flag that has still been unsullied borne,
Since the days of Drake and Sprague.
Let's see who'll dare dispute its right,
To the empire of the main,
'Twill prove its title clear and bright,
Against the world again!
Then give to the stout old British ship,
Of our freedom still the stay,
That long has the bulwark been of our rights,
Three British cheers—hurrah!
LINES,
ON THE INFANT SON AND DAUGHTER OF THE HON. COL. MONTAGUE.
How fair is childhood; like the ray
Of summer morn, the blush of day.
Bright scions of a noble race,
Blooming in love and youthful grace,
In innocence and beauty's pride!
As rosebuds blossoming at ease,
Showering their beauties on the breeze,
On some green mountain's side.
High thoughts are with that lovely boy,
In whose dark eye beams radiant joy;
May blessings on his years attend,
And Heaven its choicest favours send!
Hope of an honourable line,
With feeling heart and mind endued,
May health, and peace, and every good,
And length of life, be thine.
Oh! love it is a blessed thing,
And to the heart doth comfort bring;
But the fond throb that for a brother
A sister feels, excels all other,
Save only that by parents known:
Sweet maid, a pure affection cheers
Thy gentle heart, and still endears
Thy very smile and tone.
No cares upon those brows of light,
Round which the tresses cluster bright,
Like mossy flowers 'mong sunshine blended,
Have yet, with envious trace, descended:
But all is happiness and mirth,—
Ye look like cherubs sent from Heaven,
With hope, and joy, and beauty given,
To cheer this weary earth.
1838.