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WRITTEN AT STRATHFIELD SAYE.

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Search where we would, no fairer bowers than these,
Thine own creation ; where, called forth by thee,
" Flowers worthy of Paradise, with rich inlay,
Broider the ground, and every mountain-pine
Elsewhere unseen (his birth-place in the clouds,
His kindred sweeping with majestic march
From cliff to cliff along the snowy ridge
Of Caucasus, or nearer yet the moon)
Breathes heavenly music. — Yet much more I owe
For what so few, alas! can hope to share,
Thy converse; when, among thy books reclined,
Or in thy garden-chair that wheels its course
Slowly and silently through sun and shade,
Thou speak’st, as ever thou art wont to do,
In the calm temper of philosophy ;

Still to delight, instruct, whate'er the theme.

WRITTEN AT STRATHFIELD SAYE.

THESE are the groves a grateful people gave
For noblest service; and, from age to age,
May they, to such as come with listening ear,
Relate the story! Sacred is their shade;
Sacred the calm they breathe –0, how unlike
What in the field ’t was his so long to know !
Where many a mournful, many an anxious thought,
Troubling, perplexing, on his weary mind
Preyed, ere to arms the morning-trumpet called ;
Where, till the work was done and darkness fell,
Blood ran like water, and, go where thou wouldst,
Death in thy pathway met thee, face to face.

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For on, regardless of himself, he went;
And, by no change elated or depressed,
Fought, till he won the imperishable wreath,
Leading the conquerors captive; on he went,
Bating nor heart nor hope, whoe'er opposed;
The greatest warriors, in their turn, appearing;
The last that came, the greatest of them all —
One scattering hosts as born but to subdue,
And even in bondage withering hearts with fear.

When such the service, what the recompense ?
Yet, and I err not, a renown as fair,
And fairer still, awaited him at home;
Where to the last, day after day, he stood,
The party-zeal, that round him raged, restraining;

His not to rest, while his the strength to serve. 40

WRITTEN IN JULY, 1834.

GREY, thou hast served, and well, the sacred cause
That Hampden, Sydney died for. Thou hast stood,
Scorning all thought of self, from first to last,
Among the foremost in that glorious field;
From first to last; and, ardent as thou art,
Held on with equal step as best became
A lofty mind, loftiest when most assailed;
Never, though galled by many a barbed shaft,
By many a bitter taunt from friend and foe,
Swerving or shrinking. Happy in thy youth,
Thy youth the dawn of a long summer-day;
But in thy age still happier ; thine to earn
The gratitude of millions yet unborn;

Thine to conduct, through ways how difficult,
A mighty people in their march sublime
From Good to Better. Great thy recompense,
When in their eyes thou read’st what thou hast done;
And may'st thou long enjoy it; may’st thou long
Preserve for them what they still claim as theirs,
That generous fervor and pure eloquence,
Thine from thy birth and Nature's noblest gifts,
To guard what they have gained !

WRITTEN IN 1834.

WELL, when her day is over, be it said
That, though a speck on the terrestrial globe,
Found with long search and in a moment lost,
She made herself a name

a name to live
While science, eloquence, and song divine,
And wisdom, in self-government displayed,
And valor, such as only in the Free,
Shall among men be honored.

Every sea
Was covered with her sails; in every port
Her language spoken; and, where'er you went,
Exploring, to the east or to the west,
Even to the rising or the setting day,
Her arts and laws and institutes were there,
Moving with silent and majestic march,
Onward and onward, where no pathway was ;
There her adventurous sons, like those of old,
Founding vast empires + -- empires in their turn

Destined to shine through many a distant age
With sun-like splendor.

Wondrous was her wealth,
The world itself her willing tributary;
Yet, to accomplish what her soul desired,
All was as nothing; and the mightiest kings,
Each in his hour of strife exhausted, fallen,
Drew strength from her, their coffers from her own
Filled to o’erflowing. When her fleets of war
Had swept the main, — had swept it and were gone,
Gone from the eyes and from the minds of men,
Their dreadful errand so entirely done, -
Up rose her armies; on the land they stood,
Fearless, erect; and in an instant smote
Him with his legions.

Yet ere long 't was hers,
Great as her triumphs, to eclipse them all,
To do what none had done, none had conceived,
An act how glorious, making joy in Heaven;
When, such her prodigality, condemned
To toil and toil, alas ! how hopelessly,
Herself in bonds, for ages unredeemed -
As with a godlike energy she sprung,
All else forgot, and, burdened as she was,
Ransomed the African.43

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NOTES.

(1) Written in 1785.

(2) The sacrifice of Iphigenia.

(3) Lucretius, I. 63.

(4) The funeral rite of the Hindoos.

(5) The Fates of the northern mythology. - See Mallet's Antiquities.

(6) An allusion to the second sight.

(7) Æn. II. 172, &c.

(8) The bull, A pis.

9)
(9) The crocodile.

(10) According to an ancient proverb, it was less difficult in Egypt to find a god than a

man.

(11) The Hieroglyphics.

(12) The Catacombs.

(13) “ The Persians,” says Herodotus, “have no temples, altars or statues. sacrifice on the tops of the highest mountains.” -- I. 131.

They

(14) Æn. VI. 46, &c.

(15) See Tacitus, I. xiv. c. 29.

(16) This remarkable event happened at the siege and sack of Jerusalem, in the last year of the eleventh century. - Matth. Paris, IV. 2.

(17) The law of gravitation.

(18) On the death of a young sister.

(19) After a tragedy, performed for her benefit at the Theatre Royal, in Drury Lane, April 27, 1795.

(20) Radice in Tartara tendit. — Virg. .

(21) Alluding to some verses which she had written on an elder sister.

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