"Oh thou fair land, where from their starry home Cherub and seraph oft delight to roam, Thou city of the thousand towers, Thou palace of the golden stairs, Ye gardens of perennial flowers, Ye moted gates, ye breezy squares; Ye parks amidst whose branches high Oft peers the squirrel's sparkling eye; Ye vineyards, in whose trellised shade Pipes many a youth to many a maid; Ye ports where rides the gallant ship, Ye marts where wealthy burghers meet; Ye dark green lanes which know the trip Of woman's conscious feet; Ye grassy meads where, when the day is done, The shepherd pens his fold; Ye purple moors on which the setting sun Leaves a rich fringe of gold; Ye wintry deserts where the larches grow; Ye mountains on whose everlasting snow No human foot hath trod; Many a fathom shall ye sleep Beneath the grey and endless deep, In the great day of the revenge of God." ***** THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN'S TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE.--AN ELECTION BALLAD. (1827.) As I sate down to breakfast in state, At my living of Tithing-cum-Boring, With Betty beside me to wait, Came a rap that almost beat the door in. I laid down my basin of tea, And Betty ceased spreading the toast, "As sure as a gun, sir," said she, "That must be the knock of the post." A letter--and free--bring it here-- I have no correspondent who franks. No! Yes! Can it be? Why, my dear, 'Tis our glorious, our Protestant Bankes. "Dear sir, as I know you desire That the Church should receive due protection, I humbly presume to require Your aid at the Cambridge election. "It has lately been brought to my knowledge, That the Ministers fully design To suppress each cathedral and college, And eject every learned divine. To assist this detestable scheme Three nuncios from Rome are come over; They left Calais on Monday by steam, And landed to dinner at Dover. "An army of grim Cordeliers, Well furnished with relics and vermin, Will follow, Lord Westmoreland fears, To effect what their chiefs may determine. Lollard's bower, good authorities say, Is again fitting up for a prison; And a wood-merchant told me to-day 'Tis a wonder how faggots have risen. "The finance scheme of Canning contains A new Easter-offering tax; And he means to devote all the gains To a bounty on thumb-screws and racks. Your living, so neat and compact-- Pray, don't let the news give you pain!-- Is promised, I know for a fact, To an olive-faced Padre from Spain."