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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.
On in thy glorious course ! not yet the wave
Go on ! and oh, while adverse factions raise
thou, Our boast before our chief and champion now!
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
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
Come walk with me the jungle through ;