12.

His gallant Sons around him drew
The terrors of the flashing sword;
While hostile thunders thinn'd the crew,
And slaughter swept the lessening board.-

13.

And now, alas!—One death-wing'd ball
On WILLIAM's bosom urg'd its force;
TOM HAULYARD saw his youngest fall,
And rush'd to save his darling's corpse.-

14.

In either Fleet conflicting fires

A thousand bloody deaths illume :Huzza! Huzza!--the foe retires !

But HENRY meets his brother's doom!--

15.

TOM HAULYARD was a Seaman bold,

Yet might he weep his children slain ;Down his rough cheek the salt tear roll❜d-But does not namesake Toм remain ?

16.

Ah no!-beneath the fatal stroke,

I saw my gallant father fall!-
Then stood alone the aged oak,
Stript of his youthful branches all.--

17.

Nor long he stood-One iron shower,
The vengeance of the sinking foe,
Burst forth in ruins' desperate hour :-

TOM HAULYARD sank beneath the blow.

18.

He fell !—And striving hard with death,
All bleeding, struggled to embrace
His Sons, to catch each parting breath,
And dying kiss each pallid face.—

19.

Even now I hear the Veteran cry,

"Oh stay, your Father with ye falls!

"In Britain's cause we nobly die,

"And who shall shrink when Britain calls?

20.

"But oh, thou GOD, whose heavenly power
"Alike can succour and destroy,
"Receive us in this awful hour,

"And save, oh save this Orphan Boy.—

21.

"My first-born's Son !"-Serene he smil'd To meet the death that dimm'd his eye;

And his last prayer was And his last word was

"Save

22.

my Child!" Victory!"

Oh, peace be on the hallow'd tomb
Of them who never knew to fear;
And ever may their laurels bloom,
Bedew'd with Britain's grateful tear!—

23.

But, hapless me!-Of all bereft,

Of Father, Friends, of Hope, and Joy!—

So young, so lonely am I left

Pity the ORPHAN SAILOR BOY!

1802.

THE NEREID.

TRANSLATED FROM GRESSET.

BY MISS BANNERMAN.

DEEP in thy ruby-colour'd cave,
Hear, Nereid of the sacred main,
And, from the Ocean's stormy wave,
To these fair fields return again !
Blows there among thy emerald bowers,
A gale like this, that fluttering still,
Attendant on the month of flowers,
Breathes on this green and sunny hill.

What tho' along thy foamy verge,
The Halcyon skims her downy breast;
And, cradled on the murmuring surge,
The west-wind rocks her sea-weed nest.
Thou hear'st not in thy crystal cell
The morning anthem of the year;
The music of thy spiral shell,

The wild waves deafen, sobbing drear!

O to these bowers, the bowers of Spring,
The shades of Nature, holy gloom!
While Heaven's soft dews at twilight fling,
On grass and flower their living bloom,
Climena, from thy pearly caves,
Return and hail the Sun of day,
Nor for the roar of tossing waves,
Resign the music of the May.

SENT TO A LADY

AT A BALL.

Go, Muse, and strike the raptur'd lyre,
'Midst yonder group of festive youth,
Nor wear thou Fiction's
gay attire,

But the white robe of modest Truth. Among the fair, who shall thy strain attend, Thou shalt discriminate a polish'd friend. Tell her, that if her lovely face,

Nor beauty, nor expression knew, Nor her fair form a native grace, Allotted only to a few;

Still would she Friendship ever faithful find, From all who own the higher worth of mind.

VOL. II.

*F.

THE RING *.

BY. W. HOLLOWAY.

Author of the " Peasant's Fate," &c.

THE sea-gull wheel'd in circles low,

And, screaming, skimm'd the wintry tide;
The evening blast began to blow,
And up the steep clifts rifted side,

In broken foam, the white surge drove,
And back recoil'd, with rushing sound;
When, on the precipice above,

With haggard eyes, and locks unbound,

Stood MARY-once the fairest maid-
And chastest wife on Cornwall's shore,
Till lost her spouse-herself betray'd,
And fair and virtuous now no more!

Down on the crumbling rock she kneel❜d,
O'er which the waving samphire grew;

And, while her aching bosom swell'd,
Her ring she from her finger drew.

Founded on a melancholy event, which recently took place in an obscure village, on the Cornish coast.