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480 Montgomery.- Spencer.-Smith.

Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,

Unmeasured by the flight of years;

And all that life is love.

The Issues of Life and Death.

WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER.
1770-1834.

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Too late I stayed, forgive the crime, —

Unheeded flew the hours;

How noiseless falls the foot of time,1

That only treads on flowers.

Lines to Lady A. Hamilton.

HORACE AND JAMES SMITH.

Thinking is but an idle waste of thought, And naught is every thing and every thing is naught. Rejected Addresses. Cui Bono?

In the name of the Prophet-figs.

Ibid. Johnson's Ghost.

JAMES SMITH. 1775-1839.

Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait.

The Theatre.

1 Noiseless foot of time. - Shakespeare, All's Well

that Ends Well, Act v. Sc. 3.

THOMAS CAMPBELL. 1777-1844.

'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.1

Pleasures of Hope. Parti. Line 7.

But hope, the charmer, lingered still behind.

Line 40.

O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save. Line 359.

Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,2

And Freedom shrieked

as Kosciusko fell!

Line 381.

On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below. Line 385.

And rival all but Shakespeare's name below. Line 472.

Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of grace, the magic of a name?
Part ii. Line 5.

Without the smile from partial beauty won,

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And Man, the hermit, sighed-till Woman smil'd

I Compare Webster, ante, p. 172.

Line 37.

2 At length fatigu'd with life, he bravely fell,

And health with Boerhave bade the world farewell.

Church, The Choice (1754).

While Memory watches o'er the sad review Of joys that faded like the morning dew. Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 45.

There shall he love, when genial morn appears,

Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears.

Line 95.

And muse on Nature with a poet's eye.

Line 98.

That gems the starry girdle of the year.

Line 194.

Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul!

Line 263.

O Star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there, To waft us home the message of despair?

Line 325.

But, sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.1

Line 357.

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,
But leave-oh! leave the light of Hope behind!
What though my winged hours of bliss have been,
Like angel-visits, few and far between.2

The hunter and the deer a shade.

Line 375.

O'Conner's Child. St. 5.

1 Compare Sterne, p. 326.

2 Compare Norris, p. 253.

3 Verbatim from Freneau's Indian Burying-Ground.

Another's sword has laid him low,
Another's and another's;

And every hand that dealt the blow,
Ah me! it was a brother's!

O'Conner's Child. St. 10.

"T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.1 Lochiel's Warning.

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe,
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of
fame.

Ye mariners of England!

That guard our native seas.

Ibid.

Whose flag has braved a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!

Ye Mariners of England.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep.

Ibid.

When the stormy winds do blow:

When the battle rages loud and long,

Ibid.

And the stormy winds do blow.

1 Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present. Shelley, A Defence of Poetry.

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return.

Ye Mariners of England.

There was silence deep as death;

And the boldest held his breath,

For a time.

Battle of the Baltic.

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky,
When storms prepare to part;

I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.

To the Rainbow.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry.

Hohenlinden.

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.

Ibid.

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin ; The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill! For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing,

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. The Exile of Erin.

To bear is to conquer our fate.

On visiting a Scene in Argyleshire.

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