Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul, Then, when the last, the closing hour draws nigh, And earth recedes before my swimming eye;· When, trembling, on the doubtful edge of fate I stand, and stretch my view to either state, Teach me to quit this transitory scene With decent triumph and a look serene; Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high, And, having lived to thee, in thee to die! LESSON CXXX. The Three Warnings. MRS. THRALE. THE tree of deepest root is found This great affection to believe, Be pleased to hear a modern tale. When sports went round, and all were gay, Death called aside the jocund groom And, looking grave, "You must," says he, "With you! and quit my Susan's side! . Yet, calling up a serious look, - Well pleased, the world will leave." What next the hero of our tale befell, How long he lived, how wisely, and how well How roundly he pursued his course, And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse, He chaffered then, he bought, he sold, His friends not false, his wife no shrew, He passed his hours in peace. But, while he viewed his wealth increase, The beaten track content he trod, - Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood, Th' unwelcome messenger of fate Half killed with anger and surprise, "So soon returned!" old Dobson cries. 66 So soon, d'ye call it?" Death replies: "Surely, my friend, you're but in jest! Since I was here before 'Tis six-and-thirty years, at least, And you are now fourscore." "So much the worse!" the clown rejoined: Besides, you promised me three warnings, But don't be captious, friend, at least. I little thought you'd still be able "Hold! says the farmer, "not so fast : I have been lame these four years past." "And no great wonder," Death replies : However, you still keep your eyes; And sure, to see one's loves and friends, Yet there's some comfort, still," says Death: "Each strives your sadness to amuse : I warrant you hear all the news." "There's none," cries he; "and if there were, I'm grown so deaf I could not hear." "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, "These are unwarrantable yearnings. If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, You've had your three sufficient warnings. So come along; no more we'll part!" LESSON CXXXI. The Burial of Sir John Moore. WOLFE. NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the ramparts we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast,. Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory: |