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Victory No. 8-Saratoga and Morgiana.

Till call'd "away," each boarder runs,
And each, a Yankee sailor.

The foe has eighteen guns, or more,
The Saratoga only four :

Away! my lads, and board once more,

And fiercer still assail her.

Huzza, huzza, boys! See, she strikes! Now board your prize without your pikeş, And succour those,

No longer foes,

Whose gen'rous blood in duty flows,

And save a brother sailor.

New-Year Address to the Patrons of "The War."

NEW-YEAR ADDRESS,

Written for the Carrier of a Weekly Paper entitled THE WAR-JANUARY 1, 1813.

Patrons! scowling Winter wages
O'er our realms his stormy war;
Back'd by Northern Powers, he rages,
Scattering tempests round his car.

None can stem his rude invasion,
All must to the Tyrant yield;
Spring, alone, with soft persuasion,
Can compel him from the field.

Yet, amid the frowns of winter,
Beams one lucid ray of joy-
While it animates your Printer,
Bid it cheer the Printer's Boy.

He'll not boast of rigid duty,

Nor complain his task is hard,
While the smile of Wealth and Beauty
All his services reward.

'Tis the height of his ambition,
(Laudable in age or youth)

That he claims the great commission
Of a MESSENGER OF TRUTH.

New-Year Address to the Patrons of "The War."

Free from useless party squabbles,
Is the humble sheet he brings,
Unadorn'd by fiction's baubles,
Save when patriot Fancy sings.

CLIO, o'er the press presiding,
From her minute-book selects,
Truth from falsehood still dividing,
This she copies that rejects.

Thus prepares a faithful history,
Perfect in each line and page,
Unobscured by doubt or mystery,
To inform a future age.

Thus, exempt from faction's demon,
He has yet another boast,

That he serves a race of Freemen,
With what Freemen value most.

Now accept his gratulations,

That the New-Year's glad return

Finds us still the first of nations,

Where the flame of freedom burns:

Health, the richest earthly blessing,
Wantons in the gelid gale;
Plenty, every board is dressing;

Genius and the Arts prevail.

New-Year Address to the Patrons of "The War."

PEACE, alone, on ruffled pinion,

Flies from Freedom's injured realm ; WAR extends his rough dominion, Vengeance nodding on his helm.

Harshly sounds the trumpet's clamour, While our warriors leap to arms; Beauty shrinks in fearful tremour, Snatching graces from alarms.

Harsh to us the martial clarion

Who with Peace and Freedom blest, Bade the desert, drear and barren, Smile a garden in the West.

Harsh to us, whose fair pretensions
Ne'er infringed a nation's right,
Who have tamely borne aggressions,
Rather than engage in fight.

But at length, indignant Justice,
Bares her sabre's spotless blade,
Swears by Him in whom our trust is,
Every wrong shall be repaid.

Now the horrid fray commences,
BELLA goads the steeds of war,
Death on every side dispenses,
Spreading ruin round her car.

New-Year Address to the Patrons of "The War."

Hark! the tempest louder rages!

See! the Savage joins the strife, With a hellish yell engages,

Arm'd with hatchet, fire, and knife!

Age, nor sex, is now respected,
Infant, mother, hoary sire,
By the ruthless knife dissected,
Or in flaming cots, expire!

Can the foeman, famed for honour,
Britain, famed for social arts,
Can she brook this stain upon her,
Deeds at which a freeman starts !

Form with tigers an alliance!

League with prowling beasts of prey!

Set religion at defiance!

Fright humanity away!

Oh! a day of retribution,

Haughty Britain! is at hand,

When the amplest restitution,

Freemen's thunder shall command.

Now, already, on that ocean

She would rule with walls of oak, Where her murderers gain promotion,

She has groan'd beneath our stroke.