WAR SONG.

Written in May, 1803, on the Publication of the Negociation Papers.

BY THE REV. R. MANT, A. M.

FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD.

What! shall they seek the lion in his den,

And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said!

Bow, Britons, bow the haughty head!
"Bend, Britons, bend the stubborn knee!
"Own your ancient virtue fled,

"And know not that ye once were free.
"Think not as your fathers thought;
"Speak no more, as Britons ougat;
"Act no more the Britons' part,
"With valiant hand and honest heart;
"What indignation bids you feel,

"Dare not, dare not to reveal;

"Though Justice sharpen, dare not grasp the lance, "Nor single-handed tempt the might of France!

"Me, Holland, Italy obey:

"Her breast with many a war-wound gor'd, "And crush'd beneath my iron sway,

"Me Helvetia owns her Lord.

"Boast not then your fleets, that sweep
"The eastern and the western deep!
"Boast not then your sea-wash'd land,
"Rampart-girt by Nature's hand!

"Fleets and billows stay not me

"Then bow the head, and bend the knee.
"Britons, no more your rival ranks advance,
"Nor single-handed dare to cope with France!"
Yes! as our Albion's root-bound oak
Stoops to the tempest, we will bow!
Yes! we will bend, as the tall rock
Mocking the wave that chafes below!
Now by the sable Prince imbrued
Once and again in Gallic blood;
By the laurels that intwine,

Harry, thy helm; and Marlborough, thine;
By our *Chiefs on Nilus' tide,

Him, who triumph'd; him, who died;
By him, whom Acon's turrets raise
To lion-hearted Richard's praise;
Yes! we will still our rival ranks advance,
And single-handed brave the might of France.
Come then, come thou Consul-king!
Launch thy navies, arm thine host,
And beneath night's favouring wing
Thy banners plant on England's coast!
Come! but hope not to return

Here other thoughts thou soon shalt learn;
Shalt feel that Britons still may claim
The honours of the British name;
Can fearless still maintain their stand
On British, as on Syrian, land;

Still rise superior to the sons of Chance,
Still single-handed crush the pride of France.

It is hardly requisite to mention, that these four lines allude to Lord Nelson, the late Sir Ralph Abercrombie, and Sir Sidney Smith. The city of Acon, or Acre, was taken in one of the Crusades, from the Saracens, by Richard Cœur de Lion.

FUGITIVE POETRY.

TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL *.

THEY try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,
That you are not a daughter of æther and light,
Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms,
Who dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms,
That, in short, you're a woMAN, your lip and your
breast

As mortal as ever were tasted or prest!

But I will not believe it-No, Science to you
I have long bid a last, and a careless adieu;
Still flying from Nature to study her laws,
And dulling delight, by exploring its cause,
You forget how superior for mortals below

Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know.
Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete,
Would ask How we feel it, or why it is sweet;

* The Invisible Girl was an acoustical Deception, exhibited in Leicester Fields. From a glass globe, suspended in the midst of a room, and having no apparent communication with any thing else, a female conversed with the spectators in four languages, and played upon the Piano Forte: her breath might even be felt. Had the lines here reprinted no external sign by which to discover their author, the internal evidence would justify their being ascribed to the elegant translator of Anacreon. EDITOR.