BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


Away with bayonet and with lance,
With corslet, casque and sword;
Our island king no war-horse needs,
For on the sea he's lord.
His throne's the war-ship's lofty deck,
His sceptre is the mast;
His kingdom is the rolling wave,
His servant is the blast.
His anchor's up, fair Freedom's flag
Proud to the mast he nails;
Tyrants and conquerors bow your heads,
For there your terror sails.

I saw fierce Prussia's chargers stand,
Her children's sharp swords out;--
Proud Austria's bright spurs streaming red,
When rose the closing shout.
But soon the steeds rushed masterless,
By tower and town and wood;
For lordly France her fiery youth
Poured o'er them like a flood.
Go, hew the gold spurs from your heels,
And let your steeds run free;
Then come to our unconquered decks,
And learn to reign at sea.

Behold you black and battered hulk