"O-h!" quo' Meg; "aweel," quo' Watty,
"Farewell! faith I'll try the seas:"

66

"O stand still," quo' Meg, and grat aye;
"Ony, ony way ye please."

Maggy syne, because he prest her,
Swore to a' thing owre again :
Watty lap, and danced, and kist her;
Wow! but he was wondrous fain.

Down he threw his staff victorious;
Aff gaed bonnet, claes, and shoon;
Syne below the blankets, glorious,
Held anither Hinney-Moon!

The Tears of Britain.

Princes and peers may flourish or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath hath made :
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied.

DESERTED VILLAGE.

ALOFT on the verge of the wide stormy flood,

The Genius of Britain disconsolate stood,

Fast heaved her sad heart, while she gazed down beneath,

On armies, and navies, and victims of death;
Her best sons departing beneath every sail,
And War's loud'ning shrieks rising fast on the gale;
Joy cheered not her bosom, hope soothed her no more,
And thus in deep grief she was heard to deplore.

"Far fled from my country, where woes never

cease,

Far fled are the comforts and presence of Peace,
Slow, mournfully rising, with tears in her eye,
I saw the sweet goddess ascending on high;

O

O

Hope, commerce, and wealth followed sad in her train,
And pity, that soothes the deep sorrows of pain,
All fled from the heart-sinking battle's loud roar,
And lost, amid horrors, I saw them no more.

O why from my shores were they forced to depart?
What arm can the scourge cf destruction avert?
'Midst famine, and slaughter, must Britons still
mourn?

Will peace, precious peace, to our isle ne'er return?
Alas! when the madness of party is past,

When we with our country lie murdered and waste,
She then, when the dread devastation is o'er,
May come-but will smile on the prospect no more.

Blest Peace! best companion of mortals below,
Fair daughter of Heaven, sweet soother of woe,
Thou kind nurse of science, art's glory and boast,
O how art thou banished, neglected, and lost;
No ray left of hope to point out thy return;
No comfort, but long thy departure to mourn;
While want is wild heard round each dwelling to

growl,

And dark hopeless misery sinks deep o'er each soul.

What eye without tears can the ruin survey,
That wide o'er my country fast urges its way;
The huge domes of industry, reared in such haste,
Unfinished, and useless, lie dreary and waste.
Sore harassed and worn with despondence and care,
The poor manufacturer yields to despair;
Discharges his workmen, in misery to wail,
And sinks 'mid the comfortless glooms of a jail.

Down yonder rough beach, where the vessels attend,
I see the sad emigrants slowly descend,
Compelled by the weight of oppression and woe,
Their kindred, and native, and friends to forego.

In these drooping crowds that depart every day,
I see the true strength of the state glide away;
While countries, that hail the glad strangers to shore,
Shall flourish when Britain's proud pomp is no more.

Her towns are unpeopled, her commerce decayed,
And shut up are all her resources of trade;
The starving mechanic, bereaved of each hope,
Steals pensively home from his desolate shop;
Surveys with an anguish words ne'er can express,
The pale sighing partner of all his distress,
While round them, imploring, their little ones meet,
And crave from their mother a morsel to eat.

From weeping relations, regardlessly torn, Her unthinking youths to the battle are borne; There, trained amid slaughter and ruin to wade, They toil in the heart-steeling, barbarous trade. What crowds, hurried on by the terrible call, Pale, ghastly, and blood-covered carcases fall; Earth heaves with the heaps, still resigning their breath,

And friends, foes, and kindred, lie wallowing in death,

Ah, were they but doomed to one misery to yield, But nameless, alas, are the deaths of the field; Grim hallow-eyed Famine bereaves them of bread, And scarce can the living deposit their dead. By hardships, disease, and an inclement sky, In thousands they sicken, and languish, and die, Unpitied, and cast amid heaps of the brave, With scarce one companion to sigh o'er their grave.

Old Ocean, that bore home her treasures from far, Now growls with the thunder and horrors of war; There plunderers, licensed to murder and prey, Bear half of our riches, unquestioned, away;

roam

While towering in terrible pomp o'er the main,
The bulwarks of Britain are roaving in vain,
In search of acquirements that (justly to rate)
But serve to depress and embarrass the state.

"From India's wide-spreading, remote, sultry shore,
The long absent seaman steers homeward once more;
Encounters, unwearied, the waves and the gale,
His dear smiling wife, and his children to hail.
But never, alas, shall the poor friendless train
Behold their beloved benefactor again;
In sight of his country he's dragged forth anew,
And England for ever recedes from his view.

"These woes, horrid War! thou unmerciful fiend!
These woes are the shades that thy footsteps attend.
Aroused by the call of Ambition and Pride,
Thou wakes, and the earth with destruction is dyed.
The red blazing city enlight'ning the air,
The shrieks of distraction-the groans of despair-
Remorseless as hell thou behold'st with delight,
While Pity, far distant, turns pale at the sight.

"Shall then such a monster, a fiend so accursed, By Britons be welcomed, embosomed, and nursed? Shall they on whose prudence and mercy we rest, Be deaf to the cries of a nation distrest?

Yes! scorned for a while my poor children may

mourn,

Contemned and neglected, depressed and forlorn,
Till, bursting the bands of oppression, they soar
Aloft from the dust, to be trampled no more.

"High o'er Valenciennes, engulphed amid flame, (The glory of Gallia, of despots the shame) The wide-waving flag of Germania may flow, And Tyranny shout o'er the horrors below;

But Liberty, radiant immortal! looks down
On millions of heroes whose hearts are her own;
Who, sworn her defenders, will stand to their trust,
When towns yet unconquered are sunk in the dust.

"When rights are insulted, and justice denied, When his country is threatened his courage defied; When tyrants denounce, and each vassal prepares, "Tis then that the soul of the Briton appears; Appears in the stern resolution revealed, To rescue his country or sink in the field; Indignant he burns the proud foe to pursue, And conquest or death are the objects in view. "Were these then the causes that roused us to wrath,

To fury and madness, to uproar and death?
Was Britain insulted-was justice refused,
Her honour, her quiet, or interest abused?

Thou Being Supreme! who, in spite of each art,
Canst mark undisguised ev'ry thought of the heart,
Thou know'st the dark motives that urged them full
well,

Thou know'st, and the ghosts of the murdered will tell.

"O scheme most accursed! pale Want and Distress Called up, the resources of truth to repress. A country laid prostrate-starved-butchered each day,

That vultures, unscared, on its vitals may prey. Heaven frowns on such madness, that rising divine, Aloft the great sun of fair Freedom may shine, Bright, blazing, and boundless, till loud every shore Resound, that the reign of Corruption is o'er.

"Soon, soon will the tempest that thunders around, This unshielded bosom most fatally wound, And soon may the mighty promoters of woe Desist, in the dust of submission laid low :