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Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,
years steal on--and higher duties crave
your bosoms own this kindly debt Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget 0, how forget !-how oft I hither came, In anxious hope, how oft returned in fame! How oft around your circle this weak hand Has wav'd immortal Shakspeare's magic wand, Till the full burst of inspiration came, And I have felt, and you have fann'd, the flame! By mem’ry treasur'd, while her reign endures, These hours must live and all their charms are yours. O favour'd land! renown'd for arts and arms, For manly talent, and for female charms, Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line, What fervent benedictions now were thine? But my last part is play'd, my knell is rung, When e'en your praise falls faultering from my tongue, And all that you can hear, or I can tell, Is-Friends and Patrons, hail, and FARE YOU WELL!
Address to the Rainbon.
AND yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, ... 019 But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
sa I When o'er the green undelug'd earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, ahi How
w came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred signPas yung ist And when its yellow lustre smildus "?
Bands ਨੂੰ O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child
ma lagi butun To bless the bow of God.
Who Is bre Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang
And the first poet sang.
Unraptured greet thy beam :
Be still the poet's theme !
The lark thy welcome sings,
The snowy mushroom springs.
O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down !
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.
The Night before the Battle of Waterloo.
THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ;
Did ye not hear it !-No; 'twas but the wind,
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Within a window'd niche of that high hall
And rous'd the vengeance blood alone could quell : He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell !
Ab! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
Battle's magnificently-stern array 30 96.4375 b. The thunder-clouds elose o'er it, which when rent
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover-heap'd and pent, Rider and horse, friend, foe, -in one red burial blent !
These lines of Lord Byron take their rise from the manner in which the Duke of Wellington, and his officers, were spending the night, when imperious necessity summoned them to their posts:
THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; For his country he sigh’d, when, at twilight, repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill :
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, Where once, in the fervour of youth's warm emotion,
He sung the bold anthem of ERIN GO BRAGH! Sad is my fate said the heart-broken stranger
The wild deer and wolf to the cover can flee; But I have no refuge from famine and danger:
A home and a country remain not to me! Never again, in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers liv’d, shall I spend the sweet Or cover my harp with wild-woven flowers, [hours,
And strike to the numbers of ERIN GO BRAGA !
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore !
And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more!
f peace, where no perils can