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GEMS OF SONG.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

GUR bugles sang truce-for the nightcloud had lour'd,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;

And thousands had sunk on the ground

overpower'd

The weary to sleep, and the wounto die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain.

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,

And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

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Methought from the battle-field's dread

ful array,

Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track:

Twas Autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore

From my home and my weeping friends, never to part:

My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fullness of heart.

Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn;

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay:

But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

YE mariners of England!
That guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved, a thousand

years,

The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!

And sweep through 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,

An Ocean was their grave!

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Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.
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,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

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THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL.

FAREWELL, mother! tears are streaming
Down thy pale and tender cheek,
I in gems and roses gleaming,

Scarce this sad farewell may speak. Farewell, mother! now I leave thee,

(Hopes and fears my bosom swell,) One to trust who may deceive me; Farewell, mother! fare thee well.

Farewell, father! thou art smiling

Yet there's sadness on thy brow, Winning me from that beguiling

Tenderness to which I go. Farewell, father! thou didst bless me Ere my lips thy name could tell; He may wound! who can caress me, Father, guardian! fare thee well!

Farewell, sister! thou art twining

Round me in affection deep; Wishing joy, but ne'er divining

Why a blessed bride should weep. Farewell, brave and gentle brother!

Thou'rt more dear than words can tell Father! mother! sister! brother! All belov'd ones! fare ye well!

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