I canna help but haud thee dear, My auld, storm-batter'd, hamely shieling; Thy sooty lum, an' kipples clear I better love than gaudy ceiling. Thy roof will fa', thy rafters start, How damp an' cauld thy hearth will be! Ah! sae will soon ilk honest heart, That erst was blithe and bauld in thee! I thought to cower aneath thy wa’, Wi' lowly roof o' sward sae green. My bourtree bush an' bowzy tree! The wee while I maun sojourn here, I'll never find a hame like thee. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. THOMAS CAMPBELL. Of Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like Leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; It was ten of April morn by the chime, But the might of England flush'd And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. 'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again! again! again! And the havock did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ;— Their shots along the deep slowly boom ; Then ceased-and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail; Or, in conflagration pale, Light the gloom.— Out spoke the victor then, As he hail'd them o'er the wave; So peace instead of death let us bring; 'With the crews, at England's feet, • And make submission meet To our King.' Then Denmark bless'd our chief, As death withdrew his shades from the day, O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. Now joy, Old England, raise! While the, wine-cup shines in light; And yet amidst that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, Brave hearts! to Britain's pride * Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good, by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his dispatches. Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave! Of the brave! YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. THOMAS CAMPBELL. Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep thro' the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep thro' the deep, Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, HOHENLINDEN. THOMAS CAMPBELL. On Linden, when the sun was low, |