No. X.

Jan. 15.
For the two following Poems we are indebted to unknown

Correspondents.
They could not have reached us at a more seasonable

period.
The former, we trust, describes the feelings common to

every inhabitant of this country. The second, we know too well, is expressive of the sentiments of our enemies.

Loup howlsthestorm along the neighbouring shore
BRITAIN indignant hears the frantic roar:
Her generous sons pour forth on every side,
Firm in their country's cause—their country's pride !
See wild invasion threats this envied land :
Swift to defend her, springs each Social Band :
Her white rocks echoeing to their cheerful cry,
“ God and our King, "_" England and Victory!"

Yes! happy Britain, on thy tranquil coast No trophies mad Philosophy shall boast;

Though thy disloyal sons, a feeble band,
Sound the loud blast of treason through the land :
Scoff at thy dangers with unnatural mirth,
And execrate the soil which gave them birth,
With jaundiced eye thy splendid triumphs view,
And give to FRANce the palm to BRITAIN due:
Or,-when loud strains of gratulation ring,
And lowly bending to the ETERNAL King,
Thy SOVEREIGN bids a nation's praise arise
In grateful incense to the fav’ring skies-
Cast o’er each solemn scene a scornful glance,
And ouly sigh for ANARCHY and France.

Yes! unsupported Treason's standard falls,
Sedition vainly on her children calls,
While cities,
cottages, and

camps contend, Their King, their Laws, their Country to defend.

Raise BRITAIN, raise, thy sea-encircled head, Round the wide world behold thy glory spread, Firm as thy guardian oaks thou still shalt stand, The dread and wonder of each hostile land; While the dire fiends of discord idly rave, And, mad with anguish, curse the severing wave.

Queen of the Ocean, lo! she smiles serene, 'Mid the deep horrors of the dreadful scene ; With heartfelt piety to Heav'n she turnsFrom Heav'n the flame of British courage burns

She dreads no power but his who rules the ball,
At whose“ great bidding” empires rise and fall;
In nim, on peaceful plain, or tented field,
She trusts, secure in his protecting shield
GALLIA, thy threats she scorns-BRITAIN, shall never
yield!

AN ENGLISHWOMAN.

TRANSLATION OF THE NEW SONG

OF THE

“ ARMY OF ENGLAND,”

WRITTEN BY TIE CI-DEVANT BISHOP OF AUTUN.

WITH NOTES BY THE TRANSLATOR.

Good Republicans all,
The Directory's call

Invites you to visit John BULL;
Oppress'd by the rod
Of a King, and a Gop,*

The cup of his misery's full.

* General Danican, in his Memoirs, tells us, that while he was in command, a felon, who had assumed the name of Brutus, Chief of a Revolutionary tribunal at Rennes, said to his colleagues, on Good Friday, “ Brothers, we must put to “ death this day, at the same hour the Counter-Revolutionist “ Christ died, that young devotee who was lately arrested :” and this young lady was guillotined accordingly, and her corpse treated with every possible species of indecent insult, to the infinite amusement of a vast multitude of spectators.

Old Johnny shall see
What makes a man free;

Not parchments, nor statutes on paper ;
And stript of his riches,
Great charter, and breeches,

Shall cut a free citizen's caper.

Then away, let us over
Ta Deal, or to Dover-

We'll laugh at his talking so big ;
He's pamper'd with feeding,
And wants a sound bleeding-

Par Dieu! he shall bleed like a pig!

John, tied to the stake,
A grand baiting will make,

When worried by mastiffs of France ;
What Republican fun!
To see his blood run,

As at Lyons, La Vendée, and Nantz. *

* The reader will find in the works of Peter Porcupine (a spirited and instructive writer), an ample and satisfactory commentary on this and the following stanza. The French themselves inform us, that by the several modes of destruction here alluded to, upwards of 30,000 persons were butchered at Lyons, and this once magnificent city almost levelled to the ground, by the command of a wretched actor (Collot d'Herbois), whom they had formerly hissed from the stage. From the same authorities we learn, that at Nantz 27,000 persons of both sexes, were murdered ; chiefly by drowning them in plugged boats. The waters of the Loire became putrid, and were forbidden to be drank, by the savages who

With grape-shot discharges,
And plugs in his barges,

With National Razors good store,
We'll pepper, and shave him,
And in the Thames lave him

How sweetly he'll bellow and roar!

What the villain likes worse,
We'll vomit his purse,

And make it the guineas disgorge;
For your Raphaels and Rubens
We would not give two-pence;

Stick, stick to the PICTURES OF GEORGE.

No Venus of stone,
But of good flesh and bone,

Will do for a true Democrat;
When weary with slaughter,
With John's Wife and Daughter

We'll join in a little chit-chat.