ACCESSION

OF

GEORGE THE FOURTH.

ON Albion's cliffs the sun is bright,
And still Saint George's sea,

· O'er her blue hills emerging height
Hover soft clouds of silvery light,

As in expectancy;

The barks that seek the sister shore e

Fly gallantly the breeze before,

Like messengers of joy,

And light is every bosom's bound,

And the bright eyes that glance around,
Sparkle with transport high,
Hark! the cannon's thundering voice
Bids every British heart rejoice,

Upon this glorious day.

Slowly the lengthened files advance
Mid trumpet swell and war-horse prance,
While sabre's sheen and glittering lance
Blaze in the noontide ray,

Streamer and flag from each mast head

On the glad breeze their foldings fling,

The bells their merry peals ring out,
And kerchiefs wave and banners flout
And joyous thousands loudly shout,
Huzza for George our King!

'Tis night-calm night, and all around
The listening ear can catch no sound,
The shouts that with departing day
Less frequent burst-have died away,
The moon slow mounts the cloudless sky
With modest brow and pensive eye,
Thames owns her presence with delight
And trembles to her kiss of night,
Far down along his course serene,
The liquid flash of oars is seen
Advancing on with measured sweep,
Lovely to view is the time they keep,
And hark! the voice of melody
Comes o'er the waters joyously,

It is from that returning boat
Those sweet sounds of triumph float,
And nearer as she glides along

Mingling with music swells the song.

SONG.

Britannia exult on thy throne of blue waters,

In the midst of thine Islands thou queen

of the sea,

And loud be the hymn of thy fair bosom'd daughters To hail the high chief of the brave and the free.

While o'er the subject deep

Proudly your navies sweep,

Tars of old England still shout o'er the main,
'Till the green depths of ocean ring,
God save great George our King,

Honor and glory and length to his reign.

Hush'd be your war song ye sons of the mountain,
Pibroch of Donald Dhu mute be thy voice,
Wizard that slept by Saint Fillan's grey fountain,
With loyalty's rapture bid Scotia rejoice,

Then to your stayless spear
Albyn's brave mountaineer,

Should foemen awake your wild slogan again,
And loud o'er the battle sing

God save great George our King,

Honor and glory and length to his reign.

Strike thy wild harp yon green Isle of the ocean,
And light as thy mirth be the sound of its strain,
And welcome with Erin's own burst of emotion,
The Prince that shall loose the last links of thy chain,
And like the joyous cry

Hellas' sons raised on high,

When they stood like their fathers all free on the plain, Up the glad chorus fling

God save great George our King,
Honor and glory and length to his reign.

Chief of the mighty and the free
Thy joyous Britain welcomes thee,
Her longing eyes have watch'd afar
The mounting of thy promised star,

D

Beneath its influence benign

Long may she kneel at Freedom's shrine.
Its rising o'er Saint George's main
Ierne hails with glad acclaim,

Dear as to Hellas' weary few

Their own blue wave roll'd full in view,

Such Erin's song of Jubilee

And such her hopes O Prince from thee.

From thee, for thy young steps have stray'd
In converse with the Athenian maid,
Listen'd to Virtue's high reward
As taught by sage or sung by bard,
Smil'd at Anacreon's sportive lyre
Or glow'd at Pindar's strain of fire,
Or heard the flood of Freedom roll'd
From lips that now alas! are cold,
For ever cold in that dark tomb
Where Britain mourns her Fox's doom.-
Nurtur'd with these, by these refin'd,
She watch'd with joy thy opening mind,
Young as thou wert she then could see
That Erin's weal was dear to thee,
And look'd with transport to the day
Would yield the sceptre to thy sway.

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'Tis done-on yonder deathless field Ambition clos'd her bloody game, Bent darkly o'er her shatter'd shield

And dropp'd her tear of flame,

Europe beheld with glistening eye

Her wrongs aveng'd-her fetters riven, And peace and mercy from on high,

Diffus'd once more the gifts of Heaven, With Britain's genius hand in hand, Long may they wait on thy command, Long to our vows may they remain To bless O Prince thy prosperous reign, And waft Britannia's halcyon day To every land that owns thy sway.

Yes even to those stranger-lands
Where Niger rolls thro' burning sands;
Where fragrant spirits ever sigh
On the fresh breeze of Yemen's sky,
Or where indulgent nature smiles
On her Pelew or Friendly Isles,

Commerce and Peace shall waft thy fame
And teach the world their George's name.

In

yon fair land of sunny skies

Where Brahma hears her children's sighs
And Avarice with her demon crew
Drains to the life the meek Gentoo,
Justice no more shall plead in vain
But point to thine avenging reign.

Ganges now no more shall hear,

As on he rolls his sacred water, The clash of arms-the shout of fear

Redden no more with kindred slaughter;