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The Dying Christian to his Soul. 1187 1.47]

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VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal framne: 1:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, 3. rosa

Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! :')
Cease, fond Natúre, cease thy strife,"sl" ;
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper-angels say,
• Sister spirit, come away"-
What is this absorbs me quite ? 10: gie

Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 1.00, UH
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath 0.1
Tell me, my soul, can this be-death?

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. , - .-[1
The world recedes ! it disappears !
Heaven opens to my eyes !-my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!

98T
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount! I Aly!
O Grave! Where is thy victory? ti si

O Death! where is thy sting?

Pope.

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,
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,
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,
The patriot's virtue and the poet's song,
Still, as the tide of

ages
rolls

away,
Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay!

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!

Campbell

The Mariners of England.

Ye Mariners of England!
That guard our native seas ;

1

Whose Alag has brav'd, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
-To match another foe !
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow!
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every waye
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty, Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow !
Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain wave!
Her home is on the deep !
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow !
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn:
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return,
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceas'd to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceas'd to blow.

Campbell.

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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?

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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.

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