Partly because they blend me with his line, Those whom they thirst for; though the May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake And his was of the bravest; and when So honored but assumes a stronger, bitterer showered The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lowered, They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard. Thy thoughts, first ranked, were sure designed the great ; There have been tears and breaking hearts Passions plebeians are which faction raise; for thee, And mine were nothing. had I such to give; Wine, like poured oil, excites the raging blaze; Then giddy anarchy's rude triumphs rise; But when I stood beneath the fresh green Then sovereign Reason from her empire flies; tree Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive That ruler once deposed, wisdom and wit With fruits and fertile promise, and the The miser-spirit eyes the spendthrift heir, Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring. And mourns too late effects of sordid care; For this, though wealthy, he no wealth en- For this, he griped the poor and alms denied, I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom Unfriended lived and unlamented died. each And one as all a ghastly gap did make Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake; awake Yet smile, grieved shade, when that unprosperous store Fast lessens, when gay hours return no more Smile at thy heir, beholding in his fall RICHARD SAVAGE. THE LORD OF BUTRAGO. FROM THE SPANISH. OUR horse is faint, my king, His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye film is thick; Mount, mount on mine, oh mount apace, I pray thee-mount and fly, If I should fly, and thou, my king, be found among the dead, How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head? "Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, And say, There's one that ran away when our good lords were slain.' Or in my arms I'll lift Your I leave Diego in your care: you'll fill his Grace their trampling hoofs are nigh. father's place; Strike, strike the spur, and never spare! |