And o'er the infernal regions void of day.
On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate,
In what new station shall we fix our seat ?
When shall we next thy hallowed altars raise,
And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise ?

R

A PARAPHRASE.
(ON THOMAS À KEMPIS, 1. iii. c. 2.)
Done by the Author at Twelve Years old."
E PEAK, gracious Lord, oh, speak;

Thy servant hears :
For I'm Thy servant and I'll still

be so:
Speak words of comfort in my willing ears;

And since my tongue is in Thy praises slow, And since that Thine all rhetoric exceeds; Speak Thou in words, but let me speak in deeds! Nor speak alone, but give me grace to hear

What Thy celestial sweetness does impart; Let it not stop when entered at the ear,

But sink and take deep rooting in my heart. As the parched earth drinks rain (but grace

afford) With such a gust will I receive Thy word. Nor with the Israelites shall I desire

Thy heavenly word by Moses to receive, Lest I should die : but Thou who didst inspire

Moses himself, speak Thou, that I may live.

? First published from the Caryll Papers, in the Athenæum, July 15, 1854.

OCCASIONED BY READING THE TRAVELS

OF CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER.

TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MAN

MOUNTAIN.
AN ODE BY TILLY-TIT, POET LAUREATE TO HIS

MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT.
Translated into English.

N amaze,

Lost, I gaze,
We Can our eyes
LOS Reach thy size ?

May my lays
Swell with praise,
Worthy thee!
Worthy me!
Muse, inspire,
All thy fire!
Bards of old
Of him told,
When they said
Atlas' head

Propped the skies :
See! and believe your eyes !

See him stride
Valleys wide,
Over woods
Over floods !
When he treads,
Mountains' heads
Groan and shake :
Armies quake:
Let his spurn
Overturn

Man and steed:
Troops take heed !
Left and right,
Speed your flight!

Lest an host
Beneath his foot be lost.

Turned aside,
From his hide,
Safe from wound,
Darts rebound.
From his nose
Clouds he blows :
When he speaks,
Thunder breaks !
When he eats,
Famine threats !
When he drinks,
Neptune shrinks !
Nigh thy ear,
In mid air,
On thy hand,
Let me stand;

So shall I,
Lofty Poet, touch the sky.

II.
THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDAL-
CLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG.

A PASTORAL.
O ON as Glumdalclitch missed her

pleasing care, OY She wept, she blubbered, and she E n

tore her hair. No British miss sincerer grief bas known,

Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown. She furled her sampler, and hauled in her

thread, And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed; Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let

fall Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall. In peals of thunder now she roars, and now She gently whimpers like a lowing cow: Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears, Her locks dishevelled, and her flood of tears Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain, When from the thatch drips fast a shower of

rain. In vain she searched each cranny of the

house, Each gaping chink impervious to a mouse. “ Was it for this (she cried) with daily care Within thy reach I set the vinegar ! And filled the cruet with the acid tide, While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied; Where twined the silver eel around thy book, And all the little monsters of the brook. Sure in that lake he dropped; my Grilly's

drowned.” She dragged the cruet, but no Grildrig found.

“Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast; But little creatures enterprise the most. Trembling, I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw, Nay, mix with children, as they played at taw, Nor fear the marbles, as they bounding flew; Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you.

“Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? Who from a page can ever learn the truth? Versed in Court tricks, that money-loving boy To some lord's daughter sold the living toy; Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play,