The Dying Christian to his Soul.32# 227, VITAL spark of heavenly flame! Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,? ora Hark! they whisper-angels say, t ,,(:), Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 10. Y The world recedes! it disappears! O Death! where is thy sting? Pope T wwwwwwwwww The Anticipations of Hope. TYRANTS, in vain ye trace the wizard ring! Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow ? Ye fond adorers of departed fame, Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name !— The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre! Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, Yes! in that generous cause, for ever strong, Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay! Yes! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust, That slumber yet in uncreated dust, Ordain'd to fire the adoring sons of earth With every charm of wisdom and of worth; Ordain'd to light, with INTELLECTUAL day, The mazy wheels of Nature as they play, Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, And rival all-but Shakspeare's name below! Campbell, The Mariners of England. YE Mariners of England! Whose flag has brav'd, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again And sweep through the deep," The spirits of your fathers For the deck it was their field of fame, Britannia needs no bulwark, Her march is o'er the mountain wave! Her home is on the deep! With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow! The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn: Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceas'd to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, 'And the storm has ceas'd to blow. Campbell. Extract from Gray's Elegy. BENEATH these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed! For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share! Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave! Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If memory o'er their tombs no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise:— Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire→→ Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre: But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, And froze the genial current of the soul! ba Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; A Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air!3 SOME fretful tempers wince at every touch all Yaways do too little or too much; |