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OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.

O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams', O sun', thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty; | the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold, and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone:| who can be a companion of thy course?

The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves', decay with years the ocean shrinks, and grows again; the moon herself is lost in heavn; but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.

1 When the world is dark with tempests', | 2when thunder rolls, and lightning flies', thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds', and laugh'est at the storm. | 2 But, to Ossian, thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more,d whether thy yellow hairs flow on the eastern clouds', or thou tremblest at the gates of the west,.

But thou art perhaps like me- for a season: thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in the clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. | 4 Exult', then, O sun', in the strength of thy youth! 1Age, is dark, and unlovely: it is like the glimmering light of the moon, | when, it shines through broken clouds'; and the mist is on the hills, the blast of the north is on the plain', the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. |

TELL'S ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS.

(JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.)

Ye crags, and peaks', I'm with you once again;f | I hold to you the hands you first' beheld, |

b Moon herself, not moo'-ner-self.

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a Moun'tinz. • He, beholds thy beams; not He'be holds thy beams. dOssian was blind. Crags and peaks; not cragz'n peaks, nor crags Ann Peaks. fAgên'.

To show they still area free.

1Methinks I hear

A spirit in your echoes, an'swer me, |

2And bid your tenant welcome to his home,
Again! O sacred forms, | how proud, you lookd !|
How high you lift your heads into the sky'!|
How huge, you are! | how mighty,

and how free, !|

Ye are the things that tow'r— that shine whose smile
Makes glad whose frown is terrible- whose forms
Robed, or un robed, | do all the impress wear |
Of awe divine. | Ye guards of liberty, |
I'm with you once again!-f I call to you |
With all my voice' ! | I hold my hands to you
To show they still are free- I rush to you
As though I could embrace you !f|

BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

(THOMAS CAMPBELL.)

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodd'n snow, |
And dark as win'ter, was the flow' |
Of Iser rolling rapidly. |

But Lindeng saw another sight, |
When the drum beat at dead of night, |
Commanding fires of death, to light |
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch, and trumpet fast array'dı, |
Each horsemani drew his battle blade;|
And furious every charger neigh'd', |
To join the dreadful revelry.

a Still are; not stillar. b Methinks, I; not me-think'si. Agễn.

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d Proud, you look; not prow'jew-look. e Huge hew'jew-are. f Embrace you; not embra'shew. Lindun. b E'sår. i Hors'mân; not hosmun.

you are; not g Lin'den; not

Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n; |
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n; |
And louder than the bolts of heav'n, |
Far flash'd the red artillery.

And redder yet' those fires shall glow, |
On Linden's hills of blood-stain'd snow; |
And darker yet, shall be the flow/ |
Of Iser rolling rapidly. |

"Tis morn',

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but scarce yon level sun, |
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, [
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun' |
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deep'ns-On', ye brave', |
Who rush to glory, or the grave! |

Wave, Munich,d all thy banners, wave'! |
And charge with all thy chivalry! |

mp Few, few shall part where many meet!|
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet, |
Shall be,, a soldier's sepulchre. |

CHILDE HAROLD'S ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
(LORD BYRON.)

O that the desert were my dwell'ing-place, | With one fair spirit for my minister, | That I might all forget the human race, | And, hating no one, | love but only her! Ye elements - in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted- can ye not | Accord me such a being? Do I err| In deeming such inhabit many a spot?| Though with them to converse, I can rarely be our lot. !

a Artil'lår-rè. b Lin'den; not Lindun. •Shival-rẻ. fBề nềTH.

F

CE'sûr. d Mu'nik.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, |
There is a rap'ture on the lonely shore, |
There is society, where none intrudes
By the deep sea, and music in its roar. |
I love not man the less, | but nature more, |
From these, our interviews, in which I steal |
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the u'niverse, and feel |

What I can ne'er express', | yet cannot all conceal. [

Roll on', thou deep, and dark-blue ocean- | roll! | Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; | Man marks the earth' with ruin- | his control | Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain | The wrecks are all thy' deed, nor doth remain | A shadow of man's ravage, | save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain', I He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncof'fin'd, and unknown.]

His steps are not upon thy paths,

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thy fields |

Are not a spoil for him, thou dost arise, |

And shake him from' thee; the vile strength he wields]
For earth's destruction, | thou dost all despise, |
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies', |
And send'st him, | 1shivering in thy playful spray, |
And howling to his gods, | 2where haply lies
His petty hope, | in some near port, or bay,

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Then dashest him againd to earth':- there let him lay.|

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cit'ies, | bidding nations quake, |
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, |
The oak leviathans | whose huge ribs make |

a Roll on'; not roll-on'. b Důst. Port, or bay; not Porter Bay. d Agen'. Môn'nårks; not mon'nucks.

Their clay-creator the vain title take |
Of lord of thee', | and arbiter of war ; |

These are thy toys, | and, as the snowy flake', |
They melt into thy yesta of waves, which mar, |
Alike, the Armada's pride, | or spoils of Trafalgar.b

Thy shores are em'pires, | chang'd in all save thee | Assyria, Greece, Rome', Carthage, what are they?| Thy waters wasted them while they were free',| And many a tyrant since,; their shores obey | The stranger, slave', or savage; their decay | Has dri'd up realms to deserts:- not so thou, | Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow Such as creation's dawn' beheld, | thou rollest now. |

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Thou glorious mirror, | 1where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; | 2in all' time, |

Calm, or convuls'd in breeze', or gale', or storm, Icing the pole', or in the torrid clime, |

Dark-heaving, boundless, | end'less, and sublime,The image of eternity | 1the throne |

Of the Invisible; | 2e'en from out thy slime' The monsters of the deep are made, ; | each zone | Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fath'omless, alōne.|

sp And I have lov'd' thee, o'cean! | and my joy |
Of youthful sports, was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, on ward: | from a boy'|
I wanton'd with thy breakers: they to me, |
Were a delight; and, if the fresh'ning sea |
Made them a terror- 'twas a pleasing fear, |
For I was as it were a child' of thee, |
And trusted to thy billows, far, and near, |

And laid my hand upon thy mane'— | as I do here. |

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