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How sweet—how soothing is the thought! When battle's stormy rage is o'er,That peace again, though dearly bought, Shall smile upon our native shore.
Then cheerful o'er our cliffs we'll rove, And watch the peaceful bark glide by,And safely through her orange grove Again th' Iberian fair shall hie.
Exulting shouts the heav'ns shall rend, When war's detested flag is furl'd;And trade shall flourish—wealth extend, And commerce navigate the world.
TO MARY.
They, treach'rous, tell thee love is sweet,And yet my Mary's cheek is wet With many a pearly tear:Ah! tell me then, my lovely maid!From whence that liquid wand'rer stray'd, And whence those sighs I hear?
