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The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I prick’d them into paper with a pin
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile);
Could those few pleasant days again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart—the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
But no-what here we call our life is such,
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd)
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle,
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods, that shew
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ;,
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore
Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd-
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd,
Sails ripp’d, seams opening wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet, oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth :
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell !-Time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ;

BOADICEA: AN ODE.

109

To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine :
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

Boadicea : an Ode.
WAEN the British warrior-queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods;
Sage beneath the spreading oak

Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Every burning word he spoke

Full of rage and full of grief.
Princess ! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.
Rome shall perish-write that word

In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,

Deep in ruin as in guilt.
Rome, for empire far renown'd,

Tramples on a thousand states ;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-

Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,-

Harmony the path to fame.
Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cæsar never knew

Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they."
Such the bard's prophetic words,

Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords

Of his sweet but awful lyre.
She, with all a monarch's pride,

Felt them in her bosom glow,
Rush'd to battle, fought and died !

Dying hurl'd them at the foe.
Ruffians, pitiless as proud !
Heaven awards the

vengeance

due Empire is on us bestow'd,

Shame and ruin wait for you.

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GEORGE CRABBE.

Born A.D. 1754, died 1832.

The sea. Turn to the watery world !—but who to thee (A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint the Sea ? Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, When lull’d by zephyrs or when roused by storms; Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun Shades after shades upon the surface run; Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene, In limpid blue and evanescent

green ; And oft the foggy banks and ocean lie, Lift the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced eye.

Be it the Summer-noon! A sandy space The ebbing tide has left upon its place;

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Then just the hot and stony beach above,
Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move ;
(For heated thus, the warmer air ascends,
And with the cooler in its fall contends)-
Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps
An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps ;
Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand,
Faint lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand,
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And back return in silence, smooth and slow.
Ships in the calm seem anchor'd; for they glide
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide :
Art thou not present this calm scene before,
Where all beside is pebbly length of shore,
And far as eye can reach, it can discern no more?

Yet sometimes comes a ruffling cloud to make
The quiet surface of the ocean shake;
As an awaken'd giant with a frown
Might shew his wrath, and then to sleep sink down.

View now the Winter-storm! above, one cloud, Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud; Th' unwieldy porpoise through the day before Had rollid in view of boding men on shore ; And sometimes hid and sometimes shew'd his form, Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm.

All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam, The breaking billows cast the flying foam Upon the billows rising ;-all the deep Is restless change; the waves so swellid and steep, Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells, Not one, one moment in its station dwells; But nearer land you may the billows trace, As if contending in their watery chase; May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach, Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch ; Curl'd as they come, they strike with furious force, And then re-flowing, take their grating course, Raking the rounded flints, which ages past Roll’d by their rage, and shall to ages last.

Far off the petrel in the troubled way
Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray;
She rises often, often drops again,
And sports at ease on the tempestuous main.

High o'er the restless deep, above the reach
Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild-ducks stretch;
Far as the eye can glance on either side,
In a broad space and level line they glide ;
All in their wedge-like figures from the north,
Day after day, flight after flight go forth.

In shore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge, And drop for prey within the sweeping surge ; Oft in the rough, opposing blast they fly Far back, then turn, and all their force apply, While to the storm they give their weak complaining

cry; Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast, And in the restless ocean dip for rest.

The Village School of former Days. Various our day-schools : here behold we one Empty and still, the morning duties done, Soil'd, tatter'd, worn, and thrown in various heaps, Appear their books, and there confusion sleeps; The workmen all are from the Babel fled, And lost their tools, till the return they dread : Meantime the master, with his wig awry, Prepares his books for business by and by : Now all th' insignia of the monarch laid Beside him rest, and none stand by afraid ; He, while his troop light-hearted leap and play, Is all intent on duties of the day; No more the tyrant stern or judge severe, He feels the father's and the husband's fear.

Ah! little think the timid trembling crowd, That one so wise, so powerful, and so proud, Should feel himself, and dread the humble ills Of rent-day charges and of coalman's bills;

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