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النشر الإلكتروني

Ne'er, sweet cup, was votary bless'd
More through life than me;
And that life, with grateful breast,
Thou seest I give to thee!
'Midst thy rose-wreath'd nymphs I pass
Mirth's sweet hours away;

Pleased while Time runs through the glass
To Fancy's brighter day!

Then, magic cup, again for me
Thy power creative try;
Again let hope-fed Fancy see
A heaven in Beauty's eye!
O, lift my lighten'd heart away
On Pleasure's downy wing,
And let me taste that bliss to-day

To-morrow may not bring!

CAPTAIN MORRIS.

SONG.

FILL the goblet again! for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to

its core;

[varied round Let us drink! who would not? since through life's In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;
I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;
I have loved! who has not? but what heart can
declare

That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its

spring,

And dreams that affection can never take wing,
I had friends! who has not? but what tongue will

avow

That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?

The breast of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst change; [what appears

Thou grow'st old, who does not? but on earth Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its

years?

Yet if bless'd to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,
We are jealous! who's not?-thou hast no such
alloy,

For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

Then the season of youth and its vanities pass'd, For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;

There we find, do we not? in the flow of the soul, That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl!

When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth; Hope was left, was she not? but the goblet we kiss, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown The age of our nectar shall gladden our own; We must die, who shall not? may our sins be forgiven,

And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.

LORD BYRON.

ANACREONTIC *.

HEED no more the coming morrow,

Laugh at future care,

Snatch the present hour from sorrow,
Revel light as air!

- Shed around a shower of roses,
Call on Music's powers:
We, while Dulness safe reposes,
Live the passing hours.

Fly, ye moody sons of Sadness,
Fly to deserts drear!

Here each bosom swells with gladness,
Mirth is master here.

Life to us its sweets discloses,

Strews our path with flowers; We, while Dulness safe reposes,

Live the passing hours!

R. A. DAVENPORT.

SONG,

WRITTEN IN 1788.

O'ER the vine-cover'd hills and fair valleys of See the daystar of Liberty rise,

[France

Through clouds of detraction unwearied advance, And hold its new course in the skies.

An effulgence so mild, with a lustre so bright, All Europe with wonder surveys,

And from deserts of darkness and dungeons of Contends for a share in the blaze. [night

This song was written for a German Air, the words of which begin with Bin ein brauner Schweitzer Madchen,' &c.

Let Burke, like a bat, from its splendour retire,
A splendour too strong for his eyes;
Let pedants and fools his effusions admire,
Entrapp'd in his cobwebs like flies.
Shall frenzy and sophistry hope to prevail
When reason opposes her weight,

When the welfare of millions is hung in the scale,
And the balance yet trembles with fate?

Ah! who mid the darkness of night would abide That can taste the sweet breezes of morn? And who that has drunk of the crystalline tide To the feculent flood would return?

When the bosom of beauty the throbbing heart Ah! who would the transport decline? [meets, And who that has tasted of Liberty's sweets

The prize-but with life-would resign?

But 'tis over, high Heaven the decision approves,
Oppression has struggled in vain ;

To the hell she had form'd Superstition removes,
And Tyranny gnaws her own chain.
In the records of Time a new era unfolds,
All nature exults in the birth,

His creation benign the Creator beholds,
And gives a new charter to earth.

O, catch its high import, ye winds, as ye blow!
O, bear it, ye waves, as ye roll!

From the nations that feel the sun's vertical glow
To the farthest extremes of the Pole.

Equal rights, equal laws to the nations around,
Peace and friendship its precepts impart;
And wherever the footsteps of man can be found,
May he bind the decree on his heart.

ROSCOE.

THE HELOT'S SONG.

GOD of Armies, break my chain;
Lead me to the' embattled plain,
Where thy daring sons advance,
Bend the bow, and wield the lance;-
Shafts are whizzing on the string!
Hark! the shouts of combat ring!
Nerve the limbs, the bosom steel;
Men their wounds no longer feel.
God of Armies, hear!

Long these eyes have pour'd a flood;
Others now shall weep in blood:
Now the fierce insulting foe
Shall partake the Helot's woe;
Gasping on the well fought field,
Tyranny her scourge shall yield.
Couch the javelin-urge the steed-
Try how gallant men can bleed.
God of Armies, hear!

Hear the proud exulting cry,
When the noble spirits fly,
Soaring from the mortal cage,

Only subject of your rage,

Baffled tyrants! 6 weep forlorn,

Break the scourge, your rage we scorn,—

Mars, receive our votive breath,

Give us freedom, give us death!'

God of Armies, hear!

When the bones on earth shall lie,
Weltering to the summer's sky,
Though no sepulture they find,
Though they whiten to the wind,

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