Albion cliffs-from age to age, That bear the roaring storms of heav'n, Did ever fiercer warfare rage, Was ever peace more timely given ? Beauty, resume thy wonted smile, Boast, Britain, of thy glorious guests; The basis of a lasting throne. Shout, Poverty! 'tis Heaven that saves; Protected Wealth, the chorus raise, Ruler of war, of winds, and waves, Accept a prostrate nation's praise. ON REVISITING THE PLACE OF MY NATIVITY. THOUGH Winter's frowns had damp'd the beaming eye, Though twelve successive summers heav'd the sigh, Inhale the breeze that bends the purple bud, Who could resist the call?-that Giles had done, Now tasted all ;-for I have heard and seen green : And oft by friendship's gentle hand been led WILD FLOWERS; OR PASTORAL AND LOCAL POETRY. ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES, A FAMILIAR BALLAD. WELL! I'm determined; that's enough:- Our master talks of stable-room, Bayard, thou'lt go to feed the hounds. But could I win the widow's hand, I'd make a truce 'twixt death and thee; For thou upon the best of land Should'st feed, and live, and die with me. And must the pole-axe lay thee low? -- If I can win the Widow Jones. F Twirl went his stick; his curly pate But whether, freed from recent vows, Howbeit, as he came in sight, She turn'd her from the garden stile, She heard his sounding step behind, "Hoi! Mary Jones-what wont you speak?" Then, with a look that ne'er deceives, She turn'd, but found her courage fled; Down Abner sat, with glowing heart, And gently twitching Mary's hand, |