SPANISH WAR-SONG.

Ye sons of old Iberia, brave Spaniards up arise,
Along your hills, like distant rills the voice of battle flies;
Once more, with threats of tyranny, come on the hosts
of France;

Ye men of Spain awake again, to Freedom's fight ad

vance.

Like snow upon your mountains, they gather from afar, To launch upon your olive fields the Avalanche of war ; Above the dark'ning Pyrenees their cloud of battle flies, To burst in thunder on your plains ;-brave Spaniards up, arise.

O sons of Viriatus, Hispania's boast and pride,

Who long withstood, in fields of blood, the Roman's battle tide;

Arise again to match his deeds and kindle at his name, And let its light thro' Freedom's fight, still guide you cn to fame.

Descendants of those heroes, in Roman song renown'd, Whose glorious strife for Liberty with deathless name was crown'd,

Come down again unconquer'd men, like Biscay's ocean

roar,

And show yourselves the Cantabers your fathers were of

yore.

Saguntum's tale of wonder, shines bright upon your page, And old Numantia's story shall live thro' every age;

Her children sung their farewell song, their own lov'd homes they fir'd,

And in the blaze, 'mid Freedom's rays, all gloriously expir'd.

THE LAST SONG OF HENRY KIRK WHITE.

Yet once again my lyre, I wake the slumber of thy strings,

Ere yet the gush of song is dry in its fast fading springs ; I hear a voice, it speaks within the midnight of my

breast,

Yet once again my lyre awake, and then I sink to rest.

And must I die? well be it so, since thus 'tis better far, Than with the world and adverse fate, to wage unequal

war.

Come then thou long unwaking sleep, to thy cold clasp

I fly,

From shattered hopes, and blighted heart and pangs that cannot die.

Yet would I live for other times; I feel the tide of

song

||In swells of light, flow strong and bright, my heaving breast along ;

Yet would I live in happier years, to wake with master

hand

A lay, that should embalm my name in Albion's beauteous land.

'Tis past! they've won,-my sun is set, I see my com. ing night,

And hope and fame no longer lend their soft delusive

light;

Among fair Albion's future bards no song of mine shall

rise,

Go sweet one! thus we sadly part,-go leave me to my

sighs.

Yet from this breast, my Clara, thy love they cannot

part,

All freshly green it lingers round the ruin of my heart; A thought of me, may cloud thy soul, a tear may dim

thine eye,

That I have sung and loved in vain, forsaken thus to die.

O England my country!-despite of all my wrongs, I love thee still, my native land, thou land of sweetest songs!

One thought still cheers my life's last close, that I shall rest in thee,

And sleep, as minstrel heart should sleep, among the brave and free.

SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c.

"SI JE TE PERDS, JE SUIS PERDU."

These Stanzas were suggested by an impress on a Seal, representing a boat at sea, and a man at the helm looking up at a solitary star, with a motto-" Si Je te perds, Je suis perdu.”

Shine on thou bright beacon
Unclouded and free,

From thy high place of calmness
O'er life's troubled sea;

It's morning of promise,

Its smooth waves are gone,
And the billows rave wildly,
Then bright one shine on.

The wings of the tempest
May rush o'er thy ray ;
But tranquil thou smilest,

Undimm'd by its sway;
High, high o'er the worlds

Where storms are unknown,

Thou dwellest all beauteous,

All glorious,-alone.

From the deep womb of darkness
The lightning-flash leaps,
O'er the bark of my fortunes
Each mad billow sweeps ;
From the port of her safety,
By warring winds driven,
And no light o'er her course:
But yon lone one of Heaven.

Yet fear not thou frail one,
The hour may be near,
When our own sunny head-land
Far off shall appear;
When the voice of the storm

Shall be silent and past,
In some island of Heaven
We may anchor at last.

But bark of Eternity,

Where art thou now,

The wild waters shriek

O'er each plunge of thy prow;

On the worlds dreary Ocean,

Thus shattered and tost;

Then lone one shine on,

66 IF I LOSE THEE I'M LOST."