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works of John Oldham, P. Whitehead, and Andrew Marvell. For the last of those tasks he was grossly unqualified.


The topsails shiver in the wind,

The ship she casts to sea;
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,

Are, Mary, moor’d by thee: ,,
For though thy sailor's bound afar,
Still love shall be his leading star.

Should landmen flatter when we're sail'd,

O doubt their artful tales ;
No gallant sailor ever faild,

If Cupid fill’d his sails :
Thou art the compass of my soul,
Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

Sirens in ev'ry port we meet,

More fell than rocks and waves ;
But sailors of the British fleet

Are lovers, and not slaves :
No foes our courage shall subdue,
Although we've left our hearts with you.

These are our cares; but if you're kind,

We'll scorn the dashing main, .

The rocks, the billows, and the wind,

The pow’rs of France and Spain. Now Britain's glory rests with you, Our sails are full-sweet girls, adieu !


Behold upon the swelling wave,

With streaming pendants gay, Our gallant ship invites the brave, While glory leads the way;

. And a cruizing we will go. Whene’er Monsieur comes in view,

From India richly fraught, To gain the prize we're firm and true,

And fire as quick as thought. With hearts of oak we ply each gun,

Nor fear the least dismay; We either take, or sink, or burn,

Or make them run away.

The lovely maids of Britain's isle

We sailors ne’er despise ;
Our courage rises with each smile,

For them we take each prize..

The wind sits fair, the vessel's trim,

Then let us boldly go ;

Old Neptune guides us while we swim,

To check the haughty foe.

United let each Briton join,

Courageously advance,
We'll baffle every vain design,

And check the pride of France.


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Loose ev'ry sail to the breeze,

The course of my vessel improve :
I've done with the toils of the seas,

Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love.

Since Emma is true as she’s fair,

My griefs I fling all to the wind : 1. 'Tis a pleasing return for my care,

My mistress is constant and kind.

My sails are all fill'd to my dear;

What tropic bird swifter can move?
Who, cruel, shall hold his career

That returns to the nest of his love?

Hoist ev'ry sail to the breeze,

Come, shipmates, and join in the song; Let's drink, while the ship cuts the seas,

To the gale that may drive her along.


BORN 1766.-DIED 1788.

Henry HEADLEY, whose uncommon talents were lost to the world at the age of twenty-two, was born at Instead, in Norfolk. He received his education at the grammar school of Norwich, under Dr. Parr; and, at the age of sixteen, was admitted a member of Trinity college, Oxford. There the example of Warton led him to explore the beauties of our elder poets. About the age of twenty he published some pieces of verse, which exhibit no very remarkable promise ; but his “ Select Beauties of the Ancient English Poets,” which appeared in the following year, were accompanied with critical observations, that shewed an unparalleled ripeness of mind for his years. . On leaving the university, after a residence of four years, he married, and retired to Matlock, in Derbyshire. His matrimonial choice is said to have been hastily formed, amidst the anguish of disappointment in a previous attachment. But, short as his life was, he survived the lady whom he married.

The symptoms of consumption having appeared in his constitution, he was advised to try the benefit of a warmer climate; and he took the resolution of repairing to Lisbon, unattended by a single friend. On l'anding at Lisbon, far from feeling any relief from the climate, he found himself oppressed by its sultriness; and, in this forlorn state, was on the point of expiring, when Mr. De Visme, to whom he had received a letter of introduction from the late Mr. Windham, conveyed him to his healthful villa, near Cintra, allotted spacious apartments for his use, procured for him the ablest medical assistance, and treated him with every kindness and amusement that could console his sickly existence. But his malady proved incurable; and, returning to England at the end of a few months, he expired at Norwich.


Child of the potent spell and nimble eye,
Young Fancy, oft in rainbow vest array'd,
Points to new scenes that in succession pass
Across the wond'rous mirror that she bears,
And bids thy unsated soul and wandering eye
A wider range o'er all her prospects take ;
Lo, at her call, New Zealand's wastes arise !
Casting their shadows far along the main,
Whose brows, cloud-cap'd in joyless majesty,
No human foot hath trod since time began;
Here death-like silence ever-brooding dwells,
Save when the watching sailor startled hears,
Far from his native land at darksome night,
The shrill-ton'd petrel, or the penguin's voice,
That skim their trackless flight on lonely wing,

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