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AN INSCRIPTION FOR 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-oh, how unlike
What in the field 'twas 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 path-way met thee, face to face.

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;
So long, till warred on by the elements,
Invincible; the mightiest of the earth!

When such the service, what the recompence?
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.

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 valour, such as only in the Free,
Shall
among men be honoured.

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 thro’ many a distant age
With sun-like splendour.

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 errands so entirely done-
Up rose her armies; on the land they stood,
Fearless, erect; and in an instant smote
Him with his legions.t

* North America speaks for itself; and so indeed may we say of India when such a territory is ours in a region so remote; when a company of merchants, from such small beginnings, have established a dominion so absolute--a dominion over a people for ages civilized and cultivated, while we were yet in the woods.

+ Alluding to the battle of Waterloo. The illustrious Man who commanded there on our side, and who, in his anxiety to do justice to others, never fails to forget himself, said many years afterwards to the Author with some agitation, when relating an occurrence of that day," It was a battle of giants!”

Yet ere long 'twas hers, Great as her triumphs, to eclipse them all, To do what none had done, none had conceived, An act how glorious, making jos in Heaven; When, such her prodigality, condemned To toil and toil, alas, how hopelessly, Herself in bonds, for ages unredeemedAs with a god-like energy she sprung, All else forgot, and, burdened as she was, Ransomed the African.*

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