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The Dying Christian to his Soul. 1187 1.47]
VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! :')
Hark! they whisper-angels say,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 1.00, UH
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O Death! where is thy sting?
The Anticipations of Hope.
Tyrants, in vain ye trace the wizard ring: birisbro In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring!
19T What! can ye lull the winged winds asleep, itaw 10 Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep ? svibna No:-the.wild wave contemns your sceptred hand;It roll'd 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 furl'd? Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world? What! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied ? Why then hath Plato liv'dor Sidney died?
Ye fond adorers of departed fame,
Yes ! in that generous cause, for ever strong,
Yes! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust, That slumber yet in uncreated dust, Ordain'd to fire the adoring sons of earth With every charm of wisdom and of worth ; Ordain'd to light, with inteLLECTUAL day, The mazy wheels of Nature as they play, Or, warm with Fancy's energy, 'to glow, And rival all_but Shakspeare's name below!
The Mariners of England.
Ye Mariners of England!
Whose Alag has brav'd, a thousand years,
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 fleeting 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; But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,'*** 100
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll :978.1 Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
IÓ 103 And froze the genial current of the soul! ' bas
11 1011? Jage Full many a gem of purest ray serene, ! ! 1302 TUDY
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear 3 - 2 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, e11 3981f?. And waste its sweetness on the desert air! I v3
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A Pleasant Companion.
! !iffeiss Some fretful tempers wince at every touch of You always do too little or too much ;
LOTE YM You speak with life, in hopes to entertain,ol Ilsde Your elevated voice goes through the brain :2010T
Balatonta al You fall at once into a lower key,
Thea That's worse—the drone pipe of an humble bee ; The southern sash admits too strong a light,
dom You rise and drop the curtain—now 'tis night; He shakes with cold-you stir the fire and strive To make a blaze--that's roasting him alive, but
HA Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish; With soal—that's just the sort he would not wish. He takes what he at first professed to loath, And in due time feeds heartily on both; I sua Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown,
olz He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. Your hope to please him vain on every plan, Himself should work that wonder, if he can. Alas! his efforts double his distress, He likes s little.