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His long-drawn mole let lordly commerce scan, And of his iron arch the rainbow span : Yet, while, in burning characters imprest, The poet's lesson stamps the youthful breast; Bids the rapt boy o'er suffering virtue bleed, Adore a brave or bless a gentle deed, And in warm feeling from the storied page Arise the saint, the hero, or the sage ; Such be our toil !-Nor doubt we to explore The thorny maze of dialectic lore. To climb the chariot of the gods, or scan The secret workings of the soul of man; Upborne aloft on Plato's eagle flight, Or the slow pinion of the Stagyrite. And those gray spoils of Herculanean pride, Ifaught of yet untasted sweets they hide ;If Padua’s sage be there, or art have power To wake Menander from his secret bower. Such be our toil !-Nor vain the labour proves, Which Oxford honours, and which Grenville loves ! -On, eloquent and firm !-whose warning high Rebuked the rising surge of anarchy, When, like those brethren stars to seamen known, In kindred splendour Pitt and Grenville shone;

LORD GRENVILLE'S INSTALLATION.

55

On in thy glorious course ! not yet the wave
Has ceas'd to lash the shore, nor storm forgot to

rave.

Go on ! and oh, while adverse factions raise
To thy pure worth involuntary praise ;
While Gambia's swarthy tribes thy mercies bless,
And from thy counsels date their happiness ;
Say, (for thine Isis yet recalls with pride
Thy youthful triumphs by her leafy side,)
Say, hast thou scorn'd, mid pomp, and wealth, and

power,
The sober transports of a studious hour ?-
No, statesman, no !—thy patriot fire was fed
From the warm embers of the mighty dead ;
And thy strong spirit's patient grasp combin'd
The souls of ages in a single mind.
-By arts like these, amidst a world of foes,
Eye of the earth, th’ Athenian glory rose ;-
Thus, last and best of Romans, Brutus shone ;
Our Somers thus, and thus our Clarendon ;
Such Cobham was ;--such, Grenville, long be

thou, Our boast before our chief and champion now!

EPITAPH

ON A YOUNG NAVAL OFFICER,

DESIGNED FOR A TOMB IN A SEAPORT TOWN

IN NORTH WALES.

Sailor ! if vigour nerve thy frame,

If to high deeds thy soul is strung, Revere this stone that gives to fame

The brave, the virtuous, and the

young !

For manly beauty deck'd his form,

His bright eye beam'd with mental power ; Resistless as the winter storm,

Yet mild as summer's mildest shower.

In war's hoarse rage, in ocean's strife,

For skill, for force, for mercy known; Still prompt to shield a comrade's life,

And greatly careless of his own.-

Yet, youthful seaman, mourn not thou

The fate these artless lines recall ; No, Cambrian, no, be thine the vow,

Like him to live, like him to fall !

But hast thou known a father's care,

Who sorrowing sent thee forth to sea ; Pour'd for thy weal th' unceasing prayer,

And thought the sleepless night on thee?

Has e'er thy tender fancy flown,

When winds were strong and waves were high, Where, listening to the tempest's moan,

Thy sisters heav'd the anxious sigh

Or, in the darkest hour of dread,

Mid war's wild din, and ocean's swell, Hast mourn'd a hero brother dead,

And did that brother love thee well ?

Then pity those whose sorrows flow

In vain o'er Shipley's empty grave! -Sailor, thou weep'st :-Indulge thy wo;

Such tears will not disgrace the brave !

AN EVENING WALK IN BENGAL.

OUR task is done! on Gunga's breast
The sun is sinking down to rest ;
And moord beneath the tamarind bough,
Our bark has found its harbour now.
With furled sail, and painted side,
Behold the tiny frigate ride.
Upon her deck, 'mid charcoal gleams,
The Moslems' savoury supper steams,
While all apart, beneath the wood,
The Hindoo cooks his simpler food.

Come walk with me the jungle through ;
If yonder hunter told us true,
Far off, in desert dank and rude,
The tiger holds his solitude ;
Nor (taught by secret charm to shun
The thunders of the English gun,)
A dreadful guest but rarely seen,
Returns to scare the village green.

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