bridge, even if they are obliged to take a circuitous road. It is a remarkable instance of the great length of time in which traditions in parishes are sometimes continued.

ray,

THE morn arose, and shot her
Resplendent, from the clime of day,
Along the wide extended heath,
Which night beheld a scene of death.
The tents of England's King gleam'd white,
Reflected from the dawning light.

Fast o'er the misty hills, afar,

The Chief of Lochlin* urg'd the car,

And wak'd to strife th' advent'rous war:
His standards, streaming to the sky,
Led forth his troops to victory.
With eagle glance, the Monarch stood
And view'd the fatal field of blood,
Then urg'd his valiant few, to stand,
The guardians of their native land;

The spirits of the mighty dead

Leaned from the Heavens, o'er Conflict's bed,

Intent to hear th' expiring sigh,

The dying moan of Liberty.

Inguar approached, Death in his rear,
And on his van, Revenge and Fear.
Each line advanced-the battle woke,
And reddened at each echoing stroke;
Sword rang on helm, and spear on shield;
Each chieftain doubtful held the field-
Oppression swayed the Danish heart,
But Freedom nerved the English dart.

* Denmark.

Long raged the thick fight's furious bray;
With blood bedewed-a fallen prey-

Lay high-piled ranks of countless dead,
The Heavens their shroud-the heath their bed-
The bannered Raven,† tow'ring, waved
O'er Edmund's ranks.—In vain they braved
The ruthless fury of their foe,

For Victory sat on Inguar's brow.
Distraction seized on Edmund's soul,
And o'er his senses phrenzy stole.

The day's declining ray was past,
And evening's mist the sky o'ercast,-
Uncertain of the trackless space,
The vanquish'd Monarch urg'd his pace,
Till Eglesdene's high rising fane,

At distance, cheer'd the gloomy plain ;-
With weeds o'ergrown, an ancient pile
Of mossy bricks, and Runic style.
The Waveny's sedgy confines bore,
A passage safe from either shore.
Urged by mistrust, the Monarch sped,
And gladly sought its friendly shade;
Securely, there he silent lay,
Till Luna rose, with burnish'd ray,
And through the regions of the West
Raised high in air her silver crest.

From Hymen's rites, a youthful pair
Were speeding, by the evening star-
They passed the bridge;-the moon's soft beam
Fell radiant on the ripling stream,

The "Raven" was the famous standard of the Danish troops: gold, worked in a black banner.

And to the wanderers on the shore
Betrayed the Spurs that Edmund wore:
Suspicion seized each wondering mind,
And, faster than the rising wind,
They hastened to the long-past gate,
Eager to point their King's retreat.

Ill-fated Monarch! once the dread
Of foreign foes-thy hopes are fled!
How chang'd thy fate! the rising day
Beheld thee England's sceptre sway;
Its dying beams illume the breast
Of Edmund-now pale Sorrow's guest:
A suppliant at a conqueror's throne,
E'en on the shores so late his own.

Submissive at a Victor's frown,
Usurper of thy country's crown;
Chain'd to the stake-by anguish torn,
Thy hurried breast must know the scorn
Of murd❜rers, happy in thy moan;
Thy fortune lost, thy honours flown.
Not sorrow, torture, pangs unsung
Can wrench confession from his tongue,
But, glorying in his noble death,
He, calm, resigns his parting breath.

But hark-the dying martyr speaks,
From his parch'd lips his last will breaks :-
"§Cursed be the spot, where Edmund lay-
Dimm'd in that spot be Luna's ray—

These are nearly the last words of the expiring martys.

May execrations 'tend the pair,
Who o'er the fatal arch repair
From Hymen's sainted altars free;
May hate-unknown mortality-
Attend their lives;-domestic strife,
And all the ills of wedded life

May anguish seal their dying breath

And fell remorse-woe worse than death."

He bleeds the quivering arrow gnaws his breast;
He dies and agonising sinks to rest.
Tradition tells the mournful tale,

And weeps at Sorrow's bloody wail
Fell Superstition marks the place,
That sheltered Edmund's last distress;
And never, from that fatal day,
Have Hymen's votaries trod the way.
His spirit, by the pale moon's light,
Flits there, each, sad revolving night.

THE

SHANNON, AND THE CHESAPEAKE;

OR THE

Glorious Fight

OFF BOSTON LIGHT HOUSE,

On the 1st of June, 1813.

The particulars of this gallant and brilliant action are detailed in so perspicuous a manner, and in a style

so truly characteristic of an intelligent English Sailor, by Capt. Sir P. B. V. Broke, Bart. in his official Letter to Capt. the Hon. T. B. Capel, that any further particulars, as introductory to the following Poems, would be superfluous and unnecessary.

Shannon, Halifax, June 6, 1813.

when

"SIR,I have the honour to inform you, that being close in with Boston Light House, in his Majesty's ship under my cornmand, on the 1st instant, I had the pleasure of seeing that the United States frigate Chesapeake (whom we had long been watching) was coming out of the harbour to engage the Shannon; I took a position between Cape Ann and Cape Cod, and then hove to for him to join us-the enemy came down in a very handsome manner, having three American ensigns flying; closing with us he sent down bis royal yards. I kept the Shannon's up, expecting the breeze would die away. At half past five, P. M. the enemy hauled up within hail of us on the starboard side, and the battle began, both ships steering full under the topsails; after exchanging between two and three broadsides, the enemy's ship fell on board of us, her mizen channels locking in with our fore rigging. I went forward to ascertain her position, and observing that the enemy were flinching from their guns, I gave orders to prepare for boarding. Our gallant bands appointed to that service immediately rushed in, under their respective officers, upon the enemy's decks, driving every thing before them with irresistible fury. The enemy made a desperate but disorderly resistance. The firing continued at all the gangways and between the tops, but in two minutes time the enemy were driven sword in hand from every post. The American flag was hauled down, and the proud Old British Union floated triumphant over it. In another minute they ceased firing from below and called for quarter. The whole of this servive was achieved in fifteen minutes from the commencement of the action.

"I have to lament the loss of many of my gallant shipmates,. but they fell exulting in their conquest. My brave First Lieutenant Mr. Watt was slain in the moment of victory, in the act of hoisting the British colours: his death is a severe loss to the service. Mr. Aldham, the Purser, who had, spiritedly, volunteered the charge of a party of small-arm men, was killed at his post on the gangway. My faithful old Clerk, Mr. Duan, was shot by his side; Mr. Aldham has left a widow to lament his loss. I request the Commander in Chief will recommend her to the protection of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty. My veteran boatswain, Mr Stephens, has lost an arm. He fought under Lord Rodney on the 12th April. I trust his age and services will be duly rewarded. I am happy to say, that Mr. Samwell, a midshipman of much merit, is the only other officer wounded besides myself,