21 APRIL 1849, Page 12

PEEL.

Now is our England like a ship at sea, That reels and plunges on the rearing waves, While clothed with darkness the strong tempest raves, And sharp and dreadful rocks stand on her lee.

What profit cans phantom Pilot be, A soul that bath no compass, sees no star?- 0 thou with the true word oracular, Stand forth, and let us know a man in thee!

Come thou with world-deep guidance: take the helm; There lies the port. Steer onward, wise and bold, And reach it, ere the swamping waves o'erwhelm.

0 speaker of one thought more rare than gold, 0 traveller in Reality's stern realm,

Thou seat one star—do thou our tiller hold. C.ALL.