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النشر الإلكتروني

Look down on what? | A fathomless abyss', |
A dread eternity! | how surely mine, !|
And can eternity belong to me',
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour? |

How poor, how rich, | how abject, | how august; |
How complicate, | how wonderful is man! |
How passing wonder he who made him such!]
Who center'd in our make such strange extremes、 ! |
From diff'rent natures, marvellously mix'd, |
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds! |
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain. !!
Midway from nothing to the Deity! |
A beam etherial, sullied, and absorpt!]
Though sullied, and dishonour'd, | still divine. ! |
Dim miniature of greatness absolute! |
An heir of glo`ry! a frail child of dust、 ! |
Helpless immortal! | insect in'finite! |
A worm! a God! I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost. |


At home, a stranger, |
Thought wanders up, and down, | surpris'd', aghast`, |
And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels! |
O what a miracle to man is man, I
Triumphantly distress'd | what joy'!] what dread! |
Alternately transported, and alarm'd ! |

What can preserve my life? or what destroy.? |
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave'; }
Legions of angels can't confine、 me there. I

(c. W. THOMSON.)

The land that we live in

the land that we live' in, | O! where is the heart does not think it more fair', | Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given | Her clearest of sun and her purest of air? |

a Mår'vêl-las-lè. Min'è-tůr.


Up and down; not up-pan-down.

Italia may boast of her evergreen bow`ers, |


Her sky without clouds and her rose-scented breeze、, | And Persia may vaunt of her gardens and flowers, But there is one spot which is better than these, 'Tis the land that we live in the land that we live in, | O! where is the heart does not think it more fair', | Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given | Her clearest of sun and her purest of air. I

Romantic and wild are proud Scotia's mountains, |
And fair are the plains of imperial France — |
And Grana'da may tell of her groves and her foun'tains,
And mingle the mirth of the song and the dance-
The climes of the East may exhibit their treasures, |
Their palm-trees may bloom and their waters may


And music may wake to enliven their pleas'ures, But there is one spot which is dearer than all, ·| 'Tis the land that we live in- the land that we live in,

O! where is the heart does not think it more fair', | Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given Her clearest of sun and her purest of air? |



Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! |
This is the state of man: | to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him. :|
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; |
And, when he thinks, good, easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, |
And then he falls, as I do. I


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I have ventur'd, | Like little wanton boys that swim on blad'ders, | This many summers, | in a sea of glory; |

* Thus it stands in Shakspeare.

But far beyond my depth, my high-blown pride |
At length broke under me; and now has left me, |
Weary, and old with service, | to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. |

Vain pomp, and glory of this world, | I hate ye; |
I feel my heart new open'd: O how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on prin'ces' favours! |
There is,* betwixt that smile he would aspire to, |
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, |
More pangs, and fears than wars, or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, |
Never to hope again. I


Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear |
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, |
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. |

Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell: |
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,


And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention


Of me more must be heard of, 2say, I taught thee,
Say, Wol'sey, that once trod the ways of glory,|
And sounded all the depths, and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;]
A sure, and safe one, I though thy master miss'd it. I
Mark but my fall, and that that ru'in'd me. I
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; |
By that sin fell the angels, how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? |
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;]
Corruption wins not more than honesty. I
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, |
To silence envious tongues.

* Thus it stands in Shakspeare.

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Be just, and fear not! Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy coun'try's, | I Thy God's', and truth's; then if thou fall'st, oh Cromwell, I

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. O Cromwell, I
Had I serv'd my God | with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine, age 1
Have left me naked to mine enemies. |



The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honourable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate, nor deny ; but content myself with wishing | that I may be one of those whose follies cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience.

Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not assume the province of determining: but surely age may become justly contemptible, ] if the opportunities which it brings | have passed away without improvement, and vice appears to prevail | when the passions have subsided. |

*This illustrious father of English Oratory, having expressed himself, in the House of Commons, with his accustomed energy, in opposition to one of the measures then in agitation, his speech produced an answer from Mr. WALPOLE, who, in the course of it, said, "Formidable sounds, and furious declamation, confident assertions, and lofty periods, may affect the young and inexperienced; and, perhaps, the honourable gentleman may have contracted his habits of oratory by conversing more with those of his own age, than with such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of communicating their sentiments." And he made use of some expressions, such as vehemence of gesture, theatrical emotion, &c., applying them to Mr. PITT's manner of speaking. As soon as Mr. WALPOLE sat down, Mr. PITT got up and replied as above.

The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, | continues still to blunder, | and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt', and deserves not that his grey head' | should secure him from insult. |

Much more is he to be abhorred, | who, as he has advanced in age has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temptation: | who prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy`, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country.

I have been
A theatrical

But youth is not my only crime. accused of acting a theatrical part. part may either imply some peculiarities of gesture, | or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. |


In the first sense, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be mentioned to be despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, | to use my own language; and though I may, perhaps, have some ambition; yet to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, or very solicitously copy his diction, or his mien, however I matured by age, or modelled by experience. ] I

If any man shall, | by charging me with theatrical behaviour, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain: nor shall any protection | shelter him from the treatment which he deserves. | I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity entrench themselves: nor shall any thing but age restrain my resent ment: age which always brings one privilege: | that of being insolent and supercilious without punish


But with regard to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion that if I had acted a borrowed part, | I

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