FAREWELL TO THE TYNE.

Farewell, lovely Tyne, in thy soft murmurs flowing, Adieu to the shades of thy mouldering towers! And sweet be the flowers on thy wild margin growing, And sweet be the nymphs that inhabit thy bowers! And there shall be ties which no distance can sever, Thou land of our fathers, the dauntless and free; Tho' the charms of each change smile around me, yet never Shall the sigh be inconstant that's hallow'd to thee. Thy full orb of glory will blaze o'er each contest— Thy sons, e'er renown'd, be the dread of each foe— Till thy tars chill with fear in the fight or the tempest, And the pure streams of Heddon have ceas'd more to flow. May commerce be thine—and from Tynemouth to Stella May thy dark dingy waters auspiciously roll— And thy lads in the keels long be jovial and mellow, With faces as black as the keel or the coal. O Albion! of worlds thou shalt e'er be the wonder, Thy tough wooden walls, thy protection and pride, So long as the bolts of thy cloud-rending thunder Are hurl'd by the lads on the banks of Tyneside.