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FAREWELL.

WHEN eyes are beaming
What never tongue might tell;
When tears are streaming
From their crystal cell;
When hands are linked that dread to part,
And heart is met by throbbing heart,
O, bitter, bitter is the smart
Of them that bid farewell.

When hope is chidden
That fain of bliss would tell,
And love forbidden
In the breast to dwell ;
When fettered by a viewless chain,
We turn and gaze, and turn again,
O, death were mercy to the pain
Of them that bid farewell.

VESPERS,

GoD, that madest Earth and Heaven,
Darkness and light,
Who the day for toil hast given,
For rest the night,
May thine angel guards defend us,
Slumber sweet thy mercy send us,
Holy dreams and hopes attend us,
This livelong night.

TO LIEUTENANT GENERAL SIR ROWLAND HILL, K. B.

HILL, whose high daring with renewed success
Hath cheered our tardy war, what time the
cloud
Of expectation, dark and comfortless,
Hung on the mountains; and yon factious crowd
Blasphemed their country’s valor, babbling loud;
Then was thine arm revealed, to whose young
might,
By toulon's leaguered wall, the fiercest bowed;
Whom Egypt honored, and the dubious fight
Of Sad Corunna’s winter, and more bright
Douro, and Talavera's gory bays;
Wise, modest, brave, in danger foremost found.
O still,young warrior,may thy toil-earned praise,
With England's love, and England's honor
crowned,
Gild with delight thy father's latter days.

IMITATION OF AN ODE BY KOODRUT, IN HINDOOSTANEE.

AMBITIon's voice was in my ear, she whispered yesterday, ‘How goodly is the land of Room, how wide the Russian sway. How blest to conquer either realm, and dwell through life to come, Lulled by the harp's melodious string, cheered by the northern drum.” But wisdom heard; “O youth,” she said, “ in passion's fetter tied, O come and see a sight with me shall cure thee of thy pride.” She led me to a lonely dell, a sad and shady ground, Where many an ancient sepulchre gleamed in the moonshine round. And “here Secunder sleeps, she cried;— this is his rival's stone; And here the mighty chief reclines who reared the Median throne.

IMITATION OF AN ODE. 77

Inquire of these, doth aught of all their ancient pomp remain,

Save late regret, and bitter tears forever, and in vain 3

Return, return, and in thy heart engraven keep my lore;

The lesser wealth, the lighter load, small blame betides the poor.”

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