'Twas in Trafalgar's bay
We saw the Frenchmen lay;
Each heart was bounding then.
We scorn'd the foreign yoke,
Our ships were British oak,
And hearts of oak our men.
Our Nelson mark'd them on the wave;
Three cheers our gallant seamen gave,
Nor thought of home or beauty:
Along the line the signal ran ;—
"England expects that every man
This day will do his duty!"
And now the cannon roar
Along the affrighted shore,--
Our Nelson led the way:
His ship the Vict'ry named,
Long be that vict'ry famed,
For vict'ry crown'd the day!
But dearly was that conquest bought ;
Too well the gallant hero. fought
For England, home, and beauty:
He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,
England expects that every man
This day will do his duty!'
At last the fatal wound,
Which spread dismay around,
The hero's breast received.
"Heaven fights on our side,
The day's our own," he cried;
"Now long enough I've lived;
In honour's cause my life was past,
In honour's cause I fall at last,
For England, home, and beauty."
Thus ending life as he began,
England confess'd that every man
That day had done his duty.
How dear to my heart are the days of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents to my view The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew; The wide spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it;
The bridge, and the rock, where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung o'er the well
The old oaken bucket,
The iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hung o'er the well.
That moss-covered bucket I hail as a treasure; For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature could yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well
The old oaken bucket,
The iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy rim to receive it,
As pois'd on the curb it inclined to my lips;
Not a full glowing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though fill'd with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from that lov'd situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hung o'er the well
The old oaken bucket,
The iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hung o'er the well.
Now Autumn strews on every plain
His mellow fruits and fertile grain;
And laughing Plenty, crown'd with sheaves,
With purple grapes, and spreading leaves,
In rich profusion pours around
Her flowing treasures on the ground.
Oh! mark the great, the liberal hand,
That scatters blessings o'er the land;
And to the GOD of Nature raise
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.
The infant corn in vernal hours
He nurtured with his gentle showers,
And bade the summer clouds diffuse
Their balmy store of genial dews.
He marked the tender stem arise,
Till ripened by the glowing skies;
And now matured, his work behold,
The cheering harvest waves in gold.
To Nature's GOD with joy we raise
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.
The valleys echo to the strains
Of blooming maids and village swains;
To Him they tune the lay sincere,
Whose bounty crowns the smiling year.
The sounds from every woodland borne,
The sighing winds that bend the corn,
The yellow fields around proclaim
His mighty everlasting name.
To Nature's GOD united raise
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.
Pro-fu'-sion, plenty.
Ver'-nal, spring-time.
Nur'-tur-ed, fed, nourished.
Balm'-y, mild, soft, soothing.
Ma-tur'-ed, completed.
THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.
ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden showed another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,.
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet-sound arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade;
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.
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