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(From the Illustrated London News.)

What tribute shall we give the brave,

Who fight the glorious fight,
Who stand or fall in freedom's cause

Defenders of the righ,
Who ward the blow that tyrants deal

And vengeance they would wreak ?
The meed they claim—the wreath of fame,

The glory which they seek;
Living, th’ applause of grateful crowds

And pathways fresh with blooms;
And, when they die, the world's regret,
Emblazoned on their tombs.

And what the tribute greater still

We owe the humbler brave,
Who, though the light of glory shine

Like sunlight on the wave,
Look up from sunlight to the sun,

And see, through clouds afar,
The fairer ray, more bright than day,

Of Duty's guiding star;
Who ask no recompense of men,

To save a brother's life,
And shame, by greater bravery,
The bravest deeds of strife?

What shall we give them-souls sublime,

Who in the stormy dark,
When frantic seas assault the shore,

And whirl the helpless bark
On treacherous sands, hear far away,

Amid the fitful gale,
"The boom of guns, the seaman's cry,

Or dying woman's wail,
"Then launch their skiff, through blinding foam

Of wild waves tempest-trod,
Their errand, Love; their only guides,
Their own true hearts and God ?

Heroes of Peace ! no pomp of war,

Or sound of fife and drum;
No splendour of the soldier's craft,

Or hope of joys to come,
Make quick their pulse with high resolve,

Or nerve their honest hands;
*They only feel that mercy calls,

And at its high commands
"They look at peril face to face,

With calm, untroubled eye;
And, when it bursts, undaunted still,
They meet it-and defy!

What shall we give them? Honour ? Fame?

Ay, these, and something more-
The gratitude of free men's hearts,

And tribute from their store;
Yet, not to satisfy a debt

Twould beggar gold to pay,
But, for example to the world,

High gleaming to the day;
The gallant hearts--the hardy wights-

Who, mid the foam and swell,
Made famous in all time to come
The hapless “Northern Belle."

And those who died—the noble nine ?

When pitying sighs are borne,
We'll not forget their orphan babes

And widows left forlorn.
If nought can dry those widows' tears,

And heal the wounded heart,
To help them in their hour of need

Let England do its part.
Small bounty-great in its intent-

May light their household fires;
And teach their babes in future days

To imitate their sires,
Jan. 14, 1857.


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