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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 show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay:

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So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd 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.
But O, 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;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;

• Garth.

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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.

COWPER.

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O NANCY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME.

O NANCY! wilt thou go with me,

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The lowly cot and russet gown?
No longer drest in silken sheen,

No longer deck'd with jewels rare;
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,
Where thou wast fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! when thou art far away,

Wilt thou not cast a look behind?
Say, canst thou face the parching ray,
Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
O, can that soft and gentle mien

Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
Nor sad regret each courtly scene,

Where thou wast fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! canst thou love so true,
Through perils keen with me to go,
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of woe ?
Say, should disease or pain befall,
Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,

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Nor wistful those gay scenes recall,
Where thou wast fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,

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Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death? And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear,

Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wast fairest of the fair?

PERCY.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

Ir was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,

And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun,

And by him sported on the green

His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,

Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;

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He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,

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And with a natural sigh,

""T is some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.

“I find them in the garden,

For there's many here about; And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out! For many a thousand men," said he, “Were slain in that great victory."

"Now tell us what 't was all about,"
Young Peterkin, he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for.”

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out;
But every body said," quoth he,
"That 't was a famous victory.

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And many a childing mother then,

"With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted far and wide,

And new-born baby died;

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But things like that you know, must be
At every famous victory.

238 THEY SIN WHO TELL US LOVE CAN DIE.

"They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know must be
After a famous victory.

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"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won. 55 And our good Prince Eugene-"

"Why 't was a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay-nay-my little girl," quoth he,

It was a famous victory.

"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."

"But what good came of it at last ? "
Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 't was a famous victory."

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SOUTHEY.

THEY SIN WHO TELL US LOVE CAN DIE.

THEY sin who tell us Love can die.
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity.

In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,
Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell;
Earthly these passions of the Earth,

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They perish where they have their birth;
But Love is indestructible.

Its holy flame for ever burneth,

From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;

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