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To her he came to die, and every day
One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot
think— Yet said not so—" Perhaps he will not sink." A sudden brightness in his look appeared; A sudden vigour in his voice was heard ;— She had been reading in the book of prayer, And led him forth, and placed him in his chair. Lively he seemed, and spoke of all he knew— The friendly many, and the favourite few: Nor one that day did he to mind recall But she has treasured, and she loves them all: When in her way she meets them, they appear Peculiar people—death has made them dear. He named his friend, but then his hand she pressed, And fondly whispered, "Thou must go to rest."— "I go," he said; but, as he spoke, she found His hand more cold, and fluttering was the sound! Then gazed affrightened; but she caught a last, A dying look of love, and all was past!
She placed a decent stone his grave above Neatly engraved—an offering of her love; For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed, Awake alike to duty and the dead; She woi Id have grieved had friends presumed to spare The least assistance—'twas her proper care.
Here will she come, and on the grave will sit, Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit;
But, if observer pass, will take her round,
Forbear, sweet maid! nor be by fancy led
EARLY LOVE FOR THE SEA.
I Loved to walk where none had walked before,
About the rocks that ran along the shore;
Or far beyond the sight of man to stray,
And take my pleasure when I lost my way:
For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
And all the mossy moor that lies beneath.
Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
And heard the murmurs of the ocean flood,
With not a sound beside, except when flew
Aloft the lapwing or the gray curlew,
Who with wild notes my fancied power defied,
And mocked the dreams of solitary pride.
I loved to stop at every creek and bay,
Made by the river in its winding way;
And call to memory—not by marks they bare,
But by the thoughts that were created there.
Pleasant it was to see the sea-gulls strive
Against the storm, or in the ocean dive
With eager scream; or when they, drooping, gave
Their closing wings to sail upon the wave:
Then, as the winds and waters raged around,
And breaking billows mixed their deafening sound,
They on the rolling deep securely hung,
GEMS FROM SHAKSPEABE.
Princes have but their titles for their glories,
Ii.—Counsel In Misfortune.
III.—ABUSE OF POWER.
Oh, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
There's nothing in this world can make me joy:
To climb steep hills,
Requires slow pace at first: Anger is like
VI.—A GOOD CONSCIENCE.
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?
VII.—VANITY OF WEALTH.
How quickly Nature falls into revolt
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains
VIII.—SUBMISSION TO HEAVEN.
In common worldly things, 'tis called ungrateful,
'Tis better to be lowly born,
But look! the morn, in russet mantle clad,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
THE BATTLE OF THE LEAGUE.
The King is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant
crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and
high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to
wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our lord
the King!"— "And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks
Hurrah! the foes are coming. Hark to the mingled din
rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-whito