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The Dying Christian to his Sónl. 1184 117)
VITAL spark of heavenly flame! '; inot, coT
! Cease, fond Natúre, cease thy strife,"s111 And let me languish into life ! ! !.
Hark! they whisper--angels say, je
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 1 n, Y VEH
igen only. STO MO. .. 8
With sounds seraphic ring! ano?
The Anticipations of Hope.
2 7979 diw Tyrants, in vain ye trace the wizard ring! In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring! What! can ye lull the winged winds asleep, Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep? No:-the.wild wave contemns your sceptred hand : It rolld not back when Canute gave command !
Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow? Still must there live a blot on Nature's brow? Shall war's polluted banner ne'er be furld ? Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world? What! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied ? Why then hath Plato liv'd-or Sidney died?i
Ye fond adorers of departed fame, .. Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name ! Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre ! Wrapp'd in historic ardour, who adore Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, Where Valour tun'd, amid her chosen throng, The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song; Or, wandering thence, behold the later charms Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms! See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell, And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell ! Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore! Hath Valour left the world--to live no more? No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die, 'n And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye? Hampden no more, when suffering Freedom calls, Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls ? Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm, The might that slumbers in a PEASANT's arm!
Yes! in that generous cause, for ever strong,
Yes! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust,
· The Mariners of England..
Whose flag has brav'd, a thousand years,
Your glorious standard launch again
Extract from Gray's Elegy.
BENEATH these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, '
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. . The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed ! For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share! Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team a-field !
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, the inevitable hour
The paths of glory lead but to the grave! Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tombs no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise :Can storied urn, or animated bust,
Back to its mansion call the feeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust;
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak’d to ecstasy the living lyre; trout But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, visa 100
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;973.1 Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, "TOIO 10 And froze the genial current of the soul!cat baA
i n ja Full many a gem of purest ray serene, I í 108 TUOY
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear zxdt f. Full many a-flower is born to blush unseenne il qad?
And waste its sweetness on the desert air! 11 'v3
porno porozgu til
A Pleasant Companion."!!!" 9741
anonis if Bipp osv I Some fretful tempers wince' at every touch:
och You always do too little or too much ; You speak with life, in hopes to entertain," HEN
in willen Your elevated voice goes through the brain;" You fall at once into a lower key,
That's worse-the drone pipe of an humble bee e · The southern sash admits too strong a light,
You rise and drop the curtain-now 'tis night;