POETACAL REGISTERs 
To the church going bride shall thy 
mem ry impart i 
One pang as her eyes to thy cold relics glance, 
One flow’r from her garland, one tear from 
her heart, 
Shall drop ‘on the grave of the exile of France.’ 
Mostofthe pieces of distinguished merit 
which adorn this collection, are signed 
with the names of writers already known 
to the public---we observed, however, 
both in the last volume and the present, 
some poems with the signature Alczus, 
which are excelled by none of the others 
in spirit, originality, and true poetic fire, 
As an encourayement to bashful merit, 
we swell our article by copying the fol- 
lowing 
Ode to the Voluntcers of Britain, ow the Pros- 
Sata pect of Invasion, - 
«. 0 for the death of those, 
Who for their country die, 
Sink on her bosom to repose, 
And triumph where they lie! 
How beautiful in death 
The warrior’s corse appears, 
Embalm’d by fond affection’s breath, 
And bathed in woman's tears! 
The loveliest spot of earth 
Be sacred to the brave; * 
. The womb of her that gave them birth, 
Their country’s womb, the grave. 
mA 
— But the wild waves shall sweep 
Britannia’s foes away, 
And the blue monsters of the deep 
Be surfeited with prey! 
No !—they have ‘seap’d the waves, 
‘Scap’d the sea-monsters’ maws ; 
- They come!—but @ shall Gallic slaves 
Give English freemen laws ? 
— By Alfred’s spirit, no? 
—lting, ring the loud alarms! 
» Ye drums awake, ye clarions blow, 
Ye heralds shout “to arms.” 
To arms our heroes fly ; 
And leading on their lines, 
The British banner in the sky, 
‘The star of conquest shines. 
The lowering batile forms 
Its terrible array : 
__, Like clashing cloudsin mountain storms, 
_ That thunder on their way 3 
_ ‘The rushing armies meet ; 
And while they pour their breath, 
The strong earth shudders at their feet, 
The day grows dim with death. 
. ' 
©) — Ghosts of the mighty dead ! 
Your children’s hearts inspire, 
Aad while they on your ashes tread, 
— Rekin le all your tire. 
ws oi 
5381 
The dead to life return 5 
‘Our fathers’ spirits rise! 
— My brethren! in your breasts they 
burn, 
They sparkle in your eyes. 
Now launch upon the foe 
The lightening of your rage ; 
Strike, strike th’ assailing giants low, 
The Titans of the age, 
They yield,—they break,—they fly ; ” 
The victory is won: Anion, 
Pursue !—they faint,—they fall;—they 
die ; Aw 
O stay !—the work is done. 
Spirit of Vengeance rest « : e#\ 
Sweet Mercy cries “ forbear !” 
She. clasps. the vanquish’d to» her 
breast ; igh 
Thou wilt not pierce them there! © 7 
5. 
—Thus vanish Britain’s foes 
From her consuming eye! 
But rich be the reward of those 
Who conquer—those who die! 
O'ershadowing laurels: deck -. Ay lae 
The living hero's brows ; , 
But lovelier, wreaths entwine his necir, 
— His children and his spouse! 
Exulting o’er his lot, 2) 
The dangers he has braved : 
He clasps the dear ones, hails the-cot, 
Which his own valour saved. 
—Daughters of Albion ! weep ; 
On this triumphant plain, 
Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep, 
For you and freedom slain. 
O gently close the eye, 
That lov'’d to look on you ; 
O seal the lip, whose earliest sich, 
Whose latest breath was true: 
With knots of sweetest flowers 
Their winding sheets perfume ; 
And wash their wounds with true-loye 
showers, 
And dress them for the temb : 
For beautiful in death, 
The warrior’s corse appears, 
Embalm‘d by fond affection’s breath 
And bathed in woman’s tears. 
Give me the death of those, 
Who for their country die; 
sind O be mine like their repose, 
When cold and low they lie. ! 
Their loveliest native earth 
Enshrines the fallen brave: 
The womb of her that gave them 
birth, 
That womb shall be their grave.” 
ALCZEUS, 
Sheffield, Aug. 29, 1803. 
Pp 3 
