OF THE OLD WORLD. 343 



as it was too late in the day to pursue them, after 



S had caufi^ht my horse, we skinned the lion, 



cut off his head as a trophy, packed them behind 

 Kleine's saddle, and made the best of our way back 

 home, where we arrived late in the evening." 



After my yarn, songs passed round until a late 

 hour, and as my old hunting-chaunts had begun to 

 be very stale from frequent repetition, and new ones 

 were not obtainable, I extemporised the following 

 words, and sang them to old English airs, when my 

 turn came round : — 



THE BRITON'S SONG* 



There 's a magical charm in the land of our birth, 

 Which, seek where you will, is not found else on earth ; 

 You may search till you tire, from the pole to the zone. 

 But where will you find such a land as our own ? 

 Her daughters are fairest, and what nation dare brave 

 The Isles' -men of Britain, the Queen of the Wave ? 

 I have roam'd through the world, but I cannot compare 

 Any men with her sons, any maids with her fair. 



CnoRU°, 

 Then fill up your bumpers, and drink to my toast ! 

 I pledge ye " The Island" we all love the most : 

 The gem of the ocean, the pride of the earth. 

 The bulwark of freedom, the Land of our birth ' 



The red cross of Britain is the pride of the main, 



An emblem of freedom, a flag without stain ; 



Go search through creation — on the land, o'er the wave — 



That standard ne'er floats o'er the head of a slave. 



* Afterwards set to music by H. W. A. Beale, Esq. 



