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Still shall I think of you, maidens of Edinburgh!
Still at remembrance my bosom shall swell; Oft shall the thought, o'er the wide ocean wandering,
Mourn for the maids whom I now bid farewel.
Written for and sung at an entertainment given at Annapolis, to lieut.
George Mann and Dr. Harwood, of the U. S. navy.
NOW the war-blast is blown, and the thunders are
still, And the blue gleam of steel lies asleep in the sheath, And to peace and to mirth the full bumpers.we fill,
While the ear shrinks no more at the echo of death.
Yet still, not ungrateful, the deeds of the brave
Our heart's strongest impulse shall eagerly tell, And on those who have sunk in a watery grave
With a sorrowing tear still shall memory dwell.
The sons of our fathers have prov'd to the world That the blood in their veins beats for freedom as
high, And wherever the red-striped flag is unfurl'd,
Like them they can conquer, like them they can die.
Though shackles awhile may the eagle entwine
And forbid him the strong-sinew'd wing to display, Yet break but the bands that his ardour confine
And he mingles his fight with the blaze of the day.
Behold where in Afric's far regions a band,
Tho' few, yet determin'd, all peril defy, Their prospect by day but the hot gleaming sand,
Their bed the hard desert, their shelter the sky.
Yet still they urge forward,-'tis glory that calls
Whose sovereign impulse leads onward the brave, And the cluster'd stars rise o'er Derna's proud
walls, And the wan crescent fades, and descends in the
Then fill up the bumper-a tribute of fame,
Though small, yet'tis all that we now have to give, Yet while memory holds seat in our bosums, the
Of EATON, and MANN, and O'BANNEN shall live.
OF THE CVIII. SONNET OF CAMOENS.
THOU stream of Tajo, who with regal sway,
PEACE, ye sorrows of my soul,
While my much lov'd fair is nigh!Cease thy trickling stream to roll,
Thou welling fountain of mine eye!
Hours enough to grief are paid;
Days and weeks and months of woeOh then while I view the maid,
Let me one short rapture know!
Ere the sun of love be set,
heart! Ere we part—no more to meet
Let me dream we shall not part!
I will hope, though hope be dead;
I will smile, though anguish tear; Joy to-day his wings shall spread
With the morrow comes despair!