POETRY. For the Analectic Magazine. THE BATTLE OF ERIE. AVAST, honest Jack! now before you get mellow, ""Twas just at sunrise, and a glorious day, When we saw the bold Britons, and clear for a bout, Up went Union Jack, never up there before, "Don't give up the ship,' was the motto it bore; And as soon as that motto our gallant men saw, They thought of their Lawrence, and shouted huzza! "O! then 'twould have rais'd your hat three inches higher, To see how we dash'd in among them like fire! The Lawrence went first, and the rest as they could, "Twas peppering work-fire, fury, and smoke, "They fell all around me like spars in a gale, And out of our crew scarce a dozen remain'd, But these gallant tars still the battle maintain❜d. ""Twas then our commander, God bless his young heart, "So to Varnall he gave the command of the ship, In a small open yawl, right through their whole fleet, "I steer'd her, and damme, if every inch Of these timbers of mine at each crack didn't flinch; "Whole volleys of muskets were levell'd at him, "At last through heav'n's mercy we reach'd t'other ship, And the wind springing up, we gave her the whip, And ran down their line, boys, through thick and through thin, And bother'd their ears with a horrible din. "Then starboard and larboard, and this way and that, We bang'd them, and rak'd them, and laid their masts flat, "The Detroit, and Queen Charlotte, and Lady Provost, And not one of them all from our grapplings got free, "Now give us a bumper to Elliot and those Who came up, in good time, to belabour our foes, "And though Britons may brag of their ruling the ocean, I'll bet all I'm worth-who takes it-who takes? Though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes." CAROLINE. By Thomas Campbell, (not published in his works.) GEM of the crimson-colour'd even, Companion of retiring day, Why at the closing gates of heaven, So fair thy pensile beauty burns To peace, to pleasure, and to love, This is the breathing, blushing hour, O! sacred to the fall of day P. Shine on her chosen green resort, Where trees the sunward summit crown; Shine on her sweetly scented road, Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath Where winnow'd by her gentle air O, time! I would not blame thy power, Beyond compare, And ever was her heart so blithe For her, soft dreams, and slumbers light, 'Each eye beam'd on her with delight, With reverence meet, A crowd of flattering suitors strove ; Some proffer'd glittering gems and gold, And some of endless transports told, And everlasting love. But little could their prayers avail, Nor one could win the maiden's choice; She little heeded flattery's tale, She scorn'd the sound of mammon's voice: Was needed, who could watch each breath--Still near thy sickly couch could wait- Support thee on the brink of fate, And cheer the gloom of death. Thou who couldst mourn o'er friendship's bier, Why was thine own unwept to be? Thou who couldst give to all a tear, Why was there none to weep for thee? The wild weeds wave Who shall thy perish'd worth deplore? Or say, the breast which lies beneath, Adieu, poor Cynthia! though thy bier By widow'd love has not been press'd, What though no child with starting tear Shall view thy place of lowly rest; This little mound Shall still be found In spring's soft verdure first array'd, The snowdrop, earliest of the year, Spotless like thee, shall flourish here, Like thee shall early fade. |