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(Mrs. PILKINGTON.]

I envy not the proud their wealth,

Their equipage and state; Give me but innocence and health,

I ask not to be great.

I in this sweet retirement find

A joy unknown to kings;
For sceptres to a virtuous mind,

Seem vain and empty things.

Great Cincinnatus at his plough,

With brighter lustre shone, Than guilty Cæsar e'er could shew,

Though seated on a throne.

Tumultuous days and restless nights,

Ambition ever knows,
A stranger to the calm delights

Of study and repose.

Then free from envy, care, and strife,

Keep me, ye powers divine ; And pleas'd when ye demand my life,

May I that life resign.

Dear is my little native vale,

The ring-dove builds and warbles there; Close by my cot she tells her tale

To ev'ry passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.

In orange groves and myrtle bow'rs,

That breathe a gale of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours

With my loud lute's romantic sound;
Or crowns of living laurel weave
For those that win the race at eve.

The shepherd's horn at break of day,

The ballet danc'd in twilight glade;
The canzonet and roundelay,

Sung in the silent greenwood shade.
These simple joys that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale.

THE PRIMROSE.

(Carew.]

Ask me why I send you here,
This firstling of the infant year :
Ask me why I send to you,
This primrose all bepearld with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are wash'd with tears.

Ask me why this flower doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break;
I must tell

you

these discover What doubts and fears are in a lover,

ON THE BATTLE OF SABLA.

[From the Arabic.]

[CARLYLE.] Sabla, thou saw'st th’exulting foe

In fancied triumphs crown'd; Thou heard'st their frantic females throw

These galling taunts around':

“ Make now your choice,- the terms we give,

Desponding victims, hear; , - These fetters on your hands receive,

“ Or in your hearts the spear."

“ And is the conflict o'er," we cried,

66 And lie we at your feet? “ And dare you vauntingly decide

" The fortune we must meet?

A brighter day we soon shall see,

Tho' now the prospect lowers, And conquest, peace, and liberty

Shall gild our future hours.

The foe advanc'd :-in firm array

We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands, And the red sabre mark'd our way

Amidst their yielding bands.

Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp,

We cried, “Our choice is made, These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp,

Your hearts shall have the blade”

Cruel invader of my rest,
Thou fatal, bold, intruding guest,

Thy new assaults forbear:
Alas! I know nor health nor ease,
My life is grown a mere disease

Abandon’d to despair !

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When I the dear deceiver view,
I can't forbear to think her true :

But absent from her eye,
A thousand anxious fears arise,
A thousand racking jealousies,

I rave ! I rage! I die!

Alone! I would thy force elude,
But love delights in solitude,

And doubt still revels here;
I seek relief from company,
But that affords no charms to me,

If Cynthia is not there.
All day I muse! all night I dream!
My passion is my constant theme,

Nor take I food or rest :
I know and find myself undone ;
Yet madly push my ruin on, ,

Though slighted and opprest.

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