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('Tis not far off) visit his tomb with flowers;
And with a drop of this sweet water fill
The two small cells scooped in the marble there,
That birds may come and drink upon his
Making it holy *
AN INSCRIPTION FOR A TEMPLE
DEDICATED TO THE GRACES.+
APPROACH with reverence.
There are those within,
Whose dwelling-place is Heaven. Daughters of Jove,
From them flow all the decencies of Life;
Without them nothing pleases, Virtue's self
Admired not loved: and those on whom They smile, Great though they be, and wise, and beautiful,
Shine forth with double lustre.
* A Turkish superstition.
+ At Woburn-Abbey.
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.
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.
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; when not an adverse prow,
From pole to pole, far as the sea-bird flies,
Ruffled the tide; and they themselves 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
• North America speaks for itself; and so indeed may we say of India when such a territory is ours in a region so remote-' a territory larger and more populous than Great Britain and France and Spain, and Germany and Italy together;' when a company of merchants, from such small beginnings, have established a dominion so absolute,' where Trajan never penetrated and where the phalanx of Alexander refused to proceed' -a dominion over a people for ages civilized and cultivated, while we were yet in the woods.
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 joy in Heaven;
When, such her prodigality, condemned
To toil and toil, alas, how hopelessly,
Herself in bonds, for ages unredeemed-
As with a god-like energy she sprung,
All else forgot, and, burdened as she was,
Ransomed the African.
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!"
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,