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Constance, to her Husband on her Death-bed.

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THEODRIC, this is destiny above Our power to baffle! bear it then, my love! Rave not to learn the usage I have borne, For one true sister left me not forlorn: And though you're absent in another land, Sent from me by my own well-meant command, Your soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine As these clasp'd hands, in blessing you, now join: Shape not imagin'd horrors in my fateEv'n now my sufferings are not very great; And when your grief's first transports shall subside, I call upon your strength of soul and pride, To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the debt, Love's glorying tribute-not forlorn regret : I charge my name with power to conjure up Reflection's balmy, not its bitter cup. My pard'ning angel at the gate of Heaven Shall look not more regard than you have given and our life's union has been clad In smiles of bliss as sweet as life e'er had.

To me:

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The Dying Lover's Song.

LET me not have this gloomy view d
About my room, around my bed,
But morning roses, wet with dew,
To cool my burning brows instead.
As flowers that once in Eden grew,
Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
And every day the sweets renew,
Till I, a fading flower, am dead.
Oh! let the herbs I lov'd to rear
Give to my sense the perfumed breath;
Let them be placed about my bier,
And grace the gloomy house of death.
I'll have my grave beneath a hill,
Where only Lucy's self shall know ;
Where runs the pure pellucid rill
Upon its gravelly bed below;
There violets on the borders blow,
And insects their soft light display,
Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
The cold phosphoric fires decay.
That is the grave to Lucy shown,-
The soil, a pure and silver sand,
The green cold moss above it grows,
Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand.
In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,
There let my maiden form be laid,
Nor let my changed clay be spurn'd,
Nor for new guest that bed be made.
There will the lark, the lamb, in sport,
In air, on earth, securely play;
And Lucy to my grave resort,

As innocent, but not so gay.

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I will not have the churchyard ground, cote
With bones all black and ugly grown, w sal
To press my shivering body round, baie A
Or on my wasted limbs be thrown. than
With ribs and sculls I will not sleep,
In clammy beds of cold blue clay;

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Through which the ringed earth-worms creep
And on the shrouded bosom prey.
I will not have the bell proclaim
When those sad marriage rites begin;
And boys, without regard or shame,
Press the vile mouldering masses in.
Say not, it is beneath my care;
I cannot these cold truths allow;
These thoughts may not affect me there,
But O! they vex and tease me now.
O! take me from a world I hate,-
Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
And in some pure and blessed state,
Let me my sister minds behold,
From gross and sordid views refined,
Our heaven of spotless love to share,
For only generous souls designed,
And not a man to meet us there.

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Crabbe.

The Ocean.

THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, when none intrudes,

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews; in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal.
Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control

Stops with the shore ;-upon the watery plain, The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own: When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown!

His steps are not upon thy paths,thy fields

Are not a spoil for him,-thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields

For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise,-
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies;
And send'st him, shivering, in thy playful spray,
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest. him again to earth; there let him lay.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take

Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war JA
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,

They melt into thy yest of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, chang'd in all save thee-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay

Has dried up realms to deserts :-not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now!

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests !-in all time

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Calm or convuls'd, in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime tai 7. Dark-heaving-boundless, endless, and sublime! The image of Eternity!-the throne og AÅ Of the Invisible !-Even from out thy slime/ The monsters of the deep are made! Each zone Obeys thee! Thou goest forth, dread! fathomless! alone!

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DRY be that tear, my gentlest love,
Be hush'd that struggling sigh, mult
Not seasons, day, nor fate, shall prove
More fix'd, more true, than I!
Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear,
Cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear.
Dry be that tear!

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Ask'st thou how long my love will stay,
When all that's new is past?

How long, ah Delia, can I say

How long my life will last?

Dry be that tear, be hush'd that sigh,
At least I'll love thee till I die.
Hush'd be that sigh.

And does that thought affect thee too,
The thought of Sylvio's death,
That he who only breath'd for you

Must yield that faithful breath?
Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear,
Nor let us lose our heaven here!
Dry be that tear.

Sheridan.

The Shipwreck.

'Twas twilight, for the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil,

Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one who hates us; so the night was shown, And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale,

And-hopeless eyes, which o'er the deep alone Gazed dim and desolate; twelve days had Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

Some trial had been making at a raft,
With little hope in such a rolling sea,

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