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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; • 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 gleained 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.

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Inquire of these, doth aught of all their ancient

pomp remain, Save late regret, and bitter tears forever, and in

vain ? Return, return, and in thy heart engraven keep

my lore; The lesser wealth, the lighter load,-small blame

betides the poor.'

HYMNS

WRITTEN FOR

THE WEEKLY CHURCH SERVICE

OF THE YEAR.

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