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Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we any thing so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And Fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;
And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh

and strong

ODE TO DUTY. Srers Daughter of the Voice of God! Day! if that name throu love,

Fho art a Light to guide, a Rod
• To check the erring, and reprove;

Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From sain templations dost set free;
And calm'se the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Wbere no misgiving is, rely
l'pon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:

To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;;"
Oh, let my weakness have an end !
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Boodman let me live!

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THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR. On a low structure of rude masonry

Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they
1 The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man hero described belongs. Who lead their horses down the steep rough road

soon be estinct. It consisted of poor, and, mooily; May thence remount at ease. The aged Man old and inform persons, who contined themselves to a stard rona 1

llad placed his staff across the broad smooth stone atheir neighbourbood, and bad certain fixed days, on which, at different bouses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in mo- That overlays the pile; and, from a bag sey, but mostly in provisions.

All white with tlour, the dole of village dames,

He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; I saw an aged Beggar in my walk;

And scanned them with a fixed and serious look And he was seated, by the highway side,

Of idle coinputation. In the sun,

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Divorced from good-a spirit and pulse of good,
A life and soul, to every mode of being
Inseparably linked. While thus hc creeps
From door to door, the Villagers in him
Behold a record which together biods
Past deeds and offices of charity,
Else unremembered, and so keeps alive
The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years,
And that half-wisdom half-experience gives,
Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign
To selfishness and cold oblivious cares.
Among the farms and solitary huts,
Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages,
Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds,
The mild necessity of use compels
To acts of love; and babit does the work
Of reason; yet prepares that after-joy
Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul,
By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued,
Doth find itself insensibly disposed
To virtue and true goodness. Some there are,
By their good works exalted, lofty miods
And meditative, authors of delight
And happiness, which to the end of time
Will live, and spread, and kindle : even such minds
Jo childhood, from this solitary Being,
Or from Jike Wanderer, haply have received
(A thing more precious far than all that books
Or the solicitudes of love can do!)
That first mild touch of sympathy and thought,
In which they found their kindred with a world
Where want and sorrow were. The easy Mao
Who sits at his own door,-and, like the pear
That overhangs his head from the green wall,
Feeds in the sunshine ; the robust and young.
The prosperous and unthinking, they who live
Sheliered, and flourish in a little grove
Of their own kindred ;-- all belold in him
A silent monitor, which on their minds
Must needs impress a transitory thought
Of self-congratulation, to the beart
Of cach recalling his peculiar boods,
His charters and exemptions; and, perchance,
Though he to no one give the fortitude
And circumspection needful to preserve
His present blessings, and to husband up
The respite of the season, he, at least,
And 't is no vulgar service, makes them felt.

Upon tlie second step of that small pile,
Surrounded by those wild unpeopled bills,
He sat, and ate his food in solitude:
And ever, scattered from his palsied hand,
That, still attempting to prevent the waste,
Was baffled still, the crumbs in little showers
Fell on the ground; and the small mountain birds,
Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal,
Approached within the length of half his staff.

Him from

my childhood have I known; and then He was so old, he seems not older now; He travels on, a solitary Man, So helpless in appearance, 'tliat for him The sauntering Horseman-traveller does not throw With careless hand his alms upon the ground, But stops,--that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old Man's hat; nor quits bim so, But still, when he has given his horse the rein, Watches the aged Beggar with a look Sidelong-and half-reverted. She who tends The Toll-gate, when in summer at her door She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees The aged Beguar coming, quits her work, And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. The Post-boy, when his rattling wheels o'ertake The aged Begzar in the woody lane, Shouts to him from behind; and, if thus warned The old Man does not change his course, the Boy Turns with less noisy wheels to the road-side, And passes gently by-without a curse Upon his lips, or anger at his heart. He travels on, a solitary Man; His age ivas no companion. On the ground Dis eyes are turned, and, as he moves along, They move along the ground; and, evermore, Instead of common and habitual siginc Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, And the blue sky, one little span of earth Is all his prospect. Thus, from day to day, Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground, He plies his weary journey; seeing still, And seldom knowing that he sees, some straw, Some scattered Jeaf, or marks which, in one track, The nails of cart or chariol-wheel have left Impressed on the white road, -in the same line, At distance still the same. Poor Traveller! Hlis staff trails with him ; scarcely do his feet Disturb the summer dust; he is so still In look and motion, that the cottage curs, Ere he have passed the door, will turn away, Weary of barking at him. Boys and Girls, The vacant and the busy, Maids and Youthis, And Urchins newly breeched-all pass him by : Him even the slow.paced Waggon leaves behind.

But deem not this Man useless.Statesmen! ye Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye Who have a broom still ready in your hands To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud, Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contemplate Your talents, power, and wisdom, deem him nos A burthen of the cartla! "T is Nature's law That none, the meapest of created things, Of forins created the most vile and brute, The dullest or most noxious, should exist

Yet further.--Many, I believe, there are Who live a life of virtuous decency, Men who can liear the Decalogue and feel No self-reproach; who of the moral law Established in the land where they abide Are strict observers; and not negligent, In acts of love to those with whom they dwell, Their kindred, and the children of their blood. Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace! -But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; Go, and demand of him, if there be bere In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, And these inevitable charities, Wherewith to satisfy the human soul ? No-Man is dear to Man; the poorest poor Long for some moments in a weary life When they can know and feel that they have been,

Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out

A Farmer be was; and his house far and near
Of some small blessings; have been kind to such Was the boast of the Country for excellent cheer:
As needed kindness, for this single cause,

llow oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale That we have all of us one human heart.

Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild -Such pleasure is to one kind Being known,

ale ! My Neighbour, when with punctual care, each week Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself

Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin, ly her own wants, she from her store of meal

His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing; Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip

And turnips, and coru-land, and meadow, and lea, of this old Mendicant, and, from her door

All caught the infection-as generous as he.
Returning with exhilarated heart,
Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven. Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl,—

The fields better suited the ease of his Soul :
Then let him pass, a blessing on his head!

He strayed through the fields like an indolent Wight, And while in that vast solitude to which

The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.
The tide of things has borde him, he appears
To breathe and live but for himself alone,

For Adam was simple in thought, and the Poor,
Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about

Familiar with him, made an ion of his door :
The good which the benignant law of Heaven


them the best that he had ; or, to say Has hung around him : and, while life is liis,

What less may mislead you, they took it away.
Still let him prompt the uolettered Villagers
To tender offices and pensive thoughts.

Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm; -Then let him pass, a blessing on his head!

The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm : And, long as he can wander, let him breathe

At length, what to most is a season of sorrow, The freshoess of the valleys ; let his blood

flis means are run out,- he must beg, or must borrow. Strucgle with frosty air and winter snows; And let the chartered wiud that sweeps the heath Beat his grey locks against his withered face.

To the neighbours he went,-all were free with their Revereuce the hope whose vital anxiousness

money; Gives the last human interest to his heart.

For his hive had so long been replenished with honey,

That they dreamt not of dearth; He continued his May never House, misnamed of INDUSTRY, Make him a captive! for that pent-up din,


Knocked here—and knocked there, pounds still adding Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air, Be his the natural silence of old age!

to pounds. Let him be free of mountain solitudes; And have around him, whether heard or not,

Ile paid what he could with this ill-gotten pelf, The pleasant melody of woodland birds.

And something, it might be, reserved for himself : Few are his pleasures : if his eyes have now

Then, (what is too true,) without hinting a word, Been doomed so long to settle on the earth

Turned his back on the Country; and off like a Bird. That not without some effort they beliold The countenance of the horizontal sun,

You lift up your eyes !- but I guess that you frame Rising or setting, let the light at least

A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame; Find a free entrance to their languid orbs.

lo him it was scarcely a business of art, And let bim, where and when he will, sit down

For this he did all in the ease of his heart.
Beneath the trees, or by the grassy bank
Of highway side, and with the little birds

To London—a sad emigration I ween-
Share bis chance-gathered meal; and, finally,

With his grey hairs he went from the brook and the As in the cye of Nature he has lived,

green; So in the eye of Nature let him die!

And there, with small wealth but his legs and his hands,

As lonely he stood as a Crow on the sands.
T is not for the up feeling, the falsely refined,

All trades, as need was, did old Adam assume,-
The squcamish in taste, and the narrow of mind,

Served as Stable-boy, Errand-boy, Porter, and Groom; And the small critic wielding his delicate pen,

But nature is gracious, necessity kind, That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men. And, in spite of the shame that may lurk in his mind, He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town;

He seems ten birthdays younger, is green and is stout; Ilis staff is a sceptre-his grey hairs a crown;

Twice as fast as before does bis blood run about; Erect as a suollower he stands, and the streak

You would say that each hair of his beard was alive, Of the unfaded rose still enlivens his cheek.

And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive.
Mid the dows, in the sunshine of morn,-mid the joy
Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a Boy;

For he 's not like an Old Man that leisurely goes There fashioned that countenance, which, in spite of a about work that he knows, in a track that he knows; stain

But often his mind is compelled to demur, That his life hath received, to the last will remain. And you guess that the more then his body must stir.

In the throng of the Town like a Stranger is he,
Like one whose own Country's far over the sea;
And Nature, while through the great City he hies,
Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise.

To be a Prodigal's Favourite-then, worse truth,
A Miser's Pensioner-behold our lot!
O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not !

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This gives him the fancy of one that is young,
More of soul in his face than of words on his tongue;

Like a Maiden of twenty he trembles and sighs,

OR, THE LAST STAGE OF AVARICE. And tears of fifteen will come into his eyes.

O now that the genius of Bewick were mine, What 's a tempest to him, or the dry parching heats ? And the skill which he learned on the banks of the Tube Yet he watches the clouds that pass over the streets;

Then the Muses might deal with me just as they chose, With a look of such earnestness oflen will stand, For I'd take my last leave both of verse and of prose. You might think he'd twelve Reapers at work in the

What feats would I work with my magical hand! Strand.

Book-learning and books should be banished the land: Where proud Covent-garden, in desolate hours

And, for hunger and thirst, and such troublesome calis, of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruit and her Every Ale-house should then have a feast on its walk flowers,

The Traveller would hang his wet clothes on a chair; Old Adam will smile at the pains that have made Poor Winter look fine in such strange masquerade.

Let them smoke, let them burn, not a straw would be

care! Mid coaches and chariots, a Waggon of straw,

For the Prodigal Son, Joseph's Dream and his Sheaves, Like a magnet, the heart of old Adam can draw;

Oh, what would they be to my tale of two Thieves ? With a thousand soft pictures his memory will teem, And his bearing is touched with the sounds of a dream. Uis Grandsire that age more than thirty times told;

The One, yet unbrecched, is not three birthdays old, Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way,

There are ninely good seasons of fair and foul weather Thrusts his hands in the Waggon, and smells at the hay;

Between them, and both go a-stealing together. He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown,

With chips is the Carpenter strewing his floor? And is happy as if the rich freight were liis own.

Is a cart-load of turf at an old Woman's door ?
But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to repair,-

Old Daniel his hand to the treasure will slide!
If you pass by at morning, you 'll meet with him there: And his Grandson's as busy at work by his side.
The breath of the Cows you may see him inhale,
And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury Vale.

Old Daniel begins, he stops short-and his eye,

Through the lost look of dotage, is cunning and sly. Now farewell, Old Adam! when low thou art laid,

'T is a look which at this time is hardly his own, May one blade of grass spring up over thy head;

But tells a plain tale of the days that are dowa. And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever it be,

Ile once had a licart which was moved by the wires Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a tree.

Of manifold pleasures and many desires :

And what if he cherished his purse! 'T was no more THE SMALL CELANDINE.

Thaa treading a path trod by thousands before. Taere is a Flower, the Lesser Celandine,

'T was a path trod by thousands; but Daniel is one That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain ;

Who went something farther than others have gone, And, the first moment that the sun may shine,

And now with old Daniel you see how it fares; Bright as the sun itself, 't is out again!

You see to what end he has brought his grey hairs. When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm,

The pair sally forth hand in hand: ere the sun
Or blasts the green field and the trees distressed, las peered o'er the beeches, their work is begun:
Oft have I seen it muffled

from harm,

And yet, into whatever sin they may fall,
In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest.

This Child but half knows it, and that not at all. But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed They hunt through the streets with deliberate tread, And recognized it, though an altered Form,

And each, in his turn, is both leader and led; Now standing forth an offering to the Blast,

And, wherever they carry their plots and their wiles, And buffeted at will by Rain and Storm.

Every face in the village is dimpled with smiles. I stopped, and said with inly-muttered voice,

Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam; It doch not love the shower, nor seek the cold: The grey-headed Sire has a daughter at home, This neither is its courage nor its choice,

Who will gladly repair all the damage that's done ; But its necessity in being old.

And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one. « The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed, It cannot help itself in its decay;

I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side : Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue.» Long yet mayst thou live! for a teacher we see And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey.

That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee.



Tag little hedge-row birds, That peck along the road, regard him not. He travels on, and in his face, his step, His fait, is one expression; every limb, llis look and bending figure, all bespeak

A man who does not move with pain, but moves
With thought.- lle is insensibly subdued
To settled quiet : le is one by whom
All effort seems forgotten; one to whom
Long patience hath such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing of which
lle hath no need. He is by nature led
To peace so perfect, that the young behold

envy, what the Old Man hardly feels.

Epitaphs and Elegiac Poems.



PERHAPS some needful service of the State
Drew Titus from the depth of studious bowers,
And doomed him to contend in faithless courts,
Where gold determines between right and wrong.
Yet did at length his loyalty of heart,
And his pure native genius, lead him back
To wait upon the bright and gracious Muses,
Whom he had early loved. And not in vain
Such course he beld! Bologna's learned schools
Were gladdened by the Sage's voice, and hung
with foodness on those sweet Nestorian strains.
There pleasure crowned his days; and all his thoughts
A roseate fragrance breathed. '-O human life,
That never art secure from dolorous change!
Behold a high injunctiou suddenly
To Arno's side conducts him, and he charmed
A Tuscan audience : but full soon was called
To the perpetual silence of the grave.
Mourn, Jualy, the loss of him who stood
A Champion steadfast and invincible,
To quell the rage of literary War!

THERE never breathed a man who when his life
Was closing might not of that life relate
Toils long and hard.— The Warrior will report
Of wounds, and bright swords flashing in the fiell,
And blast of trumpels. Ble, who hath been doomed
To bow his forehead in the courts of kings,
Will tell of fraud and never ceasing hate,
Envy and heart-inquietude, derived
From intricate cabals of treacherous friends.
I, who on Shipboard lived from earliest youth,
Could represent the countenance horrible
Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage
Of Auster and Bootes. Forty years
Over the well-steered Galleys did I rule :-
From luge Pelorus to the Avantic pillars
Rises no inountain to mine eyes unknown;
And the broad gulfs I traversed oft-and-oft :
Of every cloud which in the Heavens might stir
I knew the force; and hence the rough sca's pride
Availed not to my Vessel's overthrow.
What noble pomp and frequent have not I
Ou regal decks beheld! yet in the end
I learn that one poor moment can suffice
To equalise the lofty and the low.
We sail the sea of life-a Calm One fiods,
And One a Tempest-and, the voyage o'er,
Death is the quiet haven of us all.
If more of my condition ye would know,
Sivona was my birthplace, and I sprang
Of noble parents : sixty years and three
Lived I-- then yielded to a slow disease.

0 Tsou who movest onward with a inind Intent upon thy way, pause though in haste! 'T will be no fruitless moment.

I was born Within Savona's walls, of gentle blood. On Tiber's banks my youth was dedicate To sacred studies; and the Roman Shepherd Gave to my charge Urbino's numerous Flock. Mach did I watch, much laboured, nor had power To escape from many and strange indigoities; Was smitten by the great ones of the World, But did not fall; for virtue braves all shocks, C'pon herself resting immoveably. Me did a kindlier fortune then invite To serve the glorious Henry, King of France, And in his bands I saw a high reward Stretched out for my acceptance-but Death came. Now, Reader, learn from this my fate-how false, How freacberous to her promise is the World, And trust in God- to whose eternal doom Must bend the sceptred Potentates of Earth.

DESTINED to war from very infancy
Was I, Roberto Dati, and I took
In Malta the white symbol of the Cross.
Nor in life's vigorous season did I shun
Ilazard or toil; among the Sands was seen
Of Libya, and not seldom, on the Banks
Of wide Hungarian Danube, 't was my lot
To hear the sanguinary trumpet sounded.
So lived I, and repiued not at such fate;
This only grieves me, for it seems a wrong,
That stripped of arms I to my end am brought
On the soft down of my paternal home.
Yet haply Arno shall be spared all cause
To blush for me. Thou, loiter not nor halt
In thy appointed way, and bear in mind
Now tleeting and how frail is human life.

Ivi vivea giorondo e i suoi pensieri

Erano tutti rose. The Traoslator had not skill to come nearer to bis original,

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