"Behold on yonder verdant mead, "A lamb its harmless gambols play; "The victim soon for me shall bleed, "When, boldly pouncing on my prey, "I to my eyrie wing my way, "From man and all his arts secure ; "I mock his aims; deride his sway: Beyond his utmost stretch of power." Whilst thus the empty boaster spoke, A fire-flash from a neighbouring peak Was seen; the deafening thunder broke So loudly, that no tongue may speak Its awful roll;-with quivering beak And strengthless talons tumbling fell The sky's dread "sovereign." Dost thou seek To know the cause? My verse shall tell. The lordly bird had long time reign'd With victims from the watchful swains' They took, still would the robber soar ; At length, to rid them from their foe, Th' unfailing tube a ball conveyed, And made the work of death complete. Mortal! let the lesson teach Thee not to make too much thy boast Thy wealth, or power, or strength, or speech; These are but broken reeds at most: And ruddy health! how soon 'tis lost, When launches Death's unerring dart; Man, feeble man, gives up the ghost, And only lives in Friendship's heart. Bridlington. T. ENQUIRY. Father Atlas of old tried his sinews to crack But the story, methinks, is no good one; For, if he had all the round world on his back, Pray, where is the ground that he stood on ? Bridlington. T. ISRAELĪTES PASSING THE RED SEA. A FLAGMENT. For many a coal-black tribe and cany spear, The parched and sinewy sons of Amalek; While close behind, inured to feast on blood, Deck'd in behemoth's spoils, the tall Shangalla strode. Lo! these are they whom, lords of Afric's fates, Old Thebes has pour'd through all her hundred gates Mother of armies !-How the emerald glow'd, Where, flush'd with power and vengeance, Pharaoh rode; And, stoled in white, those blazing wheels before Osiris' ark, his swarthy wizards bore: And, still responsive to the trumpet's cry, The priestly sistrum murmur'd, "Victory!" Why swell these shouts that rend the desert's gloom? Whom come ye forth to combat? warrior, whom? On earth's last margin throng the weeping train, Their cloudy guide moves on-and must we swim the main ? R |