While armed from every danger and in grim array, Faint with its heat, and dazzled with its powerful rays; And till its fires extinct, the monstrous mass they beat, To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. CONWELL, THE PILOT. OLD Conwell, the pilot, for many a year [clear, And he knew how each sand-bank and shoal to keep At last safely moored, with a well-timbered pursė, With his Poll, once a dasher, now turned to a nurse, In a sort of poop lantern placed over the Thames Then cocking their spy-glass and clearing the Nore, And see how the river in branches divides, How nobly the Spring down the river smooth glides, [sée ! There's the Fortitude yonder at danger that mocks, The bold Resolution, that steers clear of rocks, Thus the magnet old Thames firmly holds in his mouth, Thus the trade of all nations, east, west, north, & south, Like the needle points right to Gravesend. I'VE BEEN ROAMING. I've been roaming, I've been roaming I've been roaming, I've been roaming I've been roaming, I've been roaming, And I'm coming, and I'm coming To my bower back again. IT IS NOT THE LIGHT. It is not the light of the laughing eye, D. Sillery. That is fittest to bloom in the bowers of the sky- Oh! give me the beauty that beams in the soul; They-they have the power of sweetest controul The soul in its earthly shrine, unimproved, And it is not till once the dark soil is removed, Then boast not of beauty a flower that soon dies! Nor the delicate tints of the skin; For the loveliest blossom that blooms in the skies Is the beauty that's beaming within! OVER THE DARK BLUE WATERS. OVER the dark blue waters, Over the wide, wide sea, Say, wilt thou sail with me? Where there no bounds to the water, On board, then, while the skies are light, Our hearts are as true as our bark, & bright THE TEMPEST HARK, hark! the Tempest rolls along, Flashes of lightning gleam along the sky, Save, O save us! dreadful roars the storm, THE STORM IS PAST. THE storm is past, the winds retire, As twilight grey comes stealing on, And now the clamouring quail is heard, Now night resumes her sable reign, THE CITY OF NORWICH! SUCCESS TO ITS TRADE. Air" Anacreon in Heaven." BRITANNIA, Sweet Goddess of Liberty's isle, Great queen of the ocean, wherever it flows; From the north to the south, from the west to the Nile, While commerce so dear Old England the free, The City of Norwich, success to its trade. And the toast, &c. Though war may break on us by this or that foe, Quick, quick let it pass, The oaks of our billows they never can fade; So let the toast be, Old England the free, The Port of old Norwich, success to its trade. So let the toast, &c. M I'D BE A BRITISH TAR. Air" I'd be a Butterfly." I'd be a British tar, born on the ocean, Where billows and wild waves are dashing around ; Sailing along, while the gales keep in motion, And waft my brave bark to some far distant ground I'd be a sailor, with grog for my portion, Seldom with Jack is there much sorrow found; I'd be a British tar, born on the ocean, When Neptune is stirring the blue waves around, I'd be a British tar, I'd be a British tar, All careless and brave, in my cot sleeping sound. Landsmen may laugh at a sailor's devotion, May talk of the joys and the pleasures of land; Think ye a bold tar would alter his notion, Or leave his gay bark for a home on the strand? If England's foemen have vessels in motion, Brave Jack must be there with true steel in his hand; I'd be a British tar, born on the ocean, When tempests are raging or gales blowing bland: I'd be a British tar, I'd be a British tar, Born on the ocean, and far from the land. THE OCEAN IS A SAILOR'S HOME. He laughs at danger, smiles at fate, For well he knows, whate'er his doom, And when on shore midst needy friends, To cheer their hapless lot; When call'd from pleasure's luring train, |