AIR — Johnnie /cope in the Morning .

1. (Moderato)

The night-march was long, and the darkness was drear,
As our close British band, from the van to the rear,
At each pause gave a shout, at each halt gave a cheer,
To get near the French in the morning.
A G RAHAM at their head, with a head for command,
British fire in each breast! British steel in each hand,
Unfatigued — all inspired, marched the firm Martial band,
To get near the French in the morning.

See yon glorious star, ascending,
Brightly o'er the Southern sea!
Truth and peace to earth portending,
Herald of a Jubilee!
Hail it, Freemen!
'Tis the star of Liberty.

Dim at first — but widely spreading,
Soon 't will burst supremely bright,
Life and health and comfort shedding
O'er the shades of moral night;
Hail it, Bondmen!
Slavery cannot bear its light.

Few its rays, — 't is but the dawning
Of the reign of truth and peace;
Joy to slaves — yet sad forewarning,
To the tyrants of our race;
Tremble, Tyrants!

Oft do I plain, and she my plaints doth read,
Which in black colours do paint forth my woe,
So that of force she must my sorrow know;
And know, for her disdain my heart doth bleed:
And knowledge must of force some pity breed,
Which makes me hope she will some favour show,
And from her sugared lips cause comfort flow
Into mine ears, my heart with joy to feed:
Yet though she reads, and reading knows my grief,
And knowledge moves her pity my distress;
Yet do her lips, sweet lips, yield no relief.
Much do I muse, but find no cause in this,

If once a man has bitten been,
Mad dogs, they say, by him are seen
Wherever waters flow;
And so perchance Love's frenzied bite
Has robbed me of my senses quite
And I bewildered go.
The babbling brook, the foaming sea,
The wine cup, each reflects but thee.

On the Beach I wait for you:
Do not, Phyllis, faithless be,
Though last year I was untrue,
Went across the sea.
Your dear eyes have brought me home,
Never more from you to roam.

I have entreated, and I have complained;
I have dispraised, and praise I likewise gave;
All means to win her grace I tried have;
And still I love, and still I am disdained.
So long I have my tongue and pen constrained
To praise, dispraise, complain, and pity crave,
That now nor tongue, nor pen, to me her slave
Remains, whereby her grace may be obtained.
Yet you, my sighs, may purchase me relief;
And ye, my tears, her rocky heart may move:
Therefore, my sighs, sigh in her ear my grief;
And, in her heart, my tears, imprint my love.

At her fair hands how have I grace entreated,
With prayers oft repeated!
Yet still my love is thwarted:
Heart, let her go, for she'll not be converted.
Say, shall she go?
Oh! no, no, no, no, no;
She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted.

How often have my sighs declared mine anguish,
Wherein I daily languish!
Yet doth she still procure it:
Heart, let her go, for I cannot endure it.
Say, shall she go?
Oh! no, no, no, no, no;
She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it.

A BALLAD .

Saw ye my wee thing? Saw ye mine ain thing?
Saw ye my true love down on yon lea?
Crossed she the meadow yestreen at the gloaming?
Sought she the burnie whar flowers the haw tree?

Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milk-white;
Dark is the blue o' her saft rolling ee;
Red, red her ripe lips! and sweeter than roses: —
Whar could my wee thing wander frae me?"

Poet and Friend! Pause while the bells of Time
Ring out this great division of your days,
And let the cadence of these sombre plays
Be the grave echo of their silver chime;
And as you slowly up to glory climb,
Nigh fainting in the lower thorny ways,
Take solace from the eternal wreath of bays
That crowns at last this weary brow sublime;
His was a soul whose calm intensity
Glared, shadeless, at the passion-sun that blinds,
Unblinded, till the storm of song arose; —
Even as the patient and Promethean sea

When discord first, with hate infuriate, hurled
Their baneful influence o'er a suff'ring world;
Broke the firm bands of kindred joys asunder,
And left in want the wretch to weep, and — wonder;
Thrilled with despair; — unfriended and oppressed,
With haggard eye, pale Poverty, distressed,
Roamed the lone wild, a wretched life to save,
And, shivering, sunk in Famine's darkening cave! —
There, sad, she pined, and wailed her hopeless moan,
Earth her damp pillow! and her bed — cold stone!
Till Charity (from Heaven's fair lineage sprung,