Swift sail'd the Po, and happy breezes blew. In Biscay's stormy seas an armed ship, Of force superior, from loud Charente's wave Clapt them on board. The frighted flying crew Their colours strike: when dauntless Junio, fir'd With noble indignation, kill'd the chief, Who on the bloody deck dealt slaughter round. The Gauls retreat, the Britons loud huzza; And touch'd with shame, with emulation stúng, So plied their cannon, plied their missile fires That soon in air the hapless Thunderer blew. Blow, prosperous breezes; swiftly sail, thou Po: May no more dangerous fights retard thy way!
Soon Porto Santo's rocky heights they 'spy, Like clouds dim rising in the distant sky. Glad Eurus whistles, laugh the sportive crew; Each sail is set to catch the favouring gale, While on the yard-arm the harpooner sits, Strikes the boneta, or the shark insnares; The little nautilus, with purple pride
Expands his s ail and dances o'er the waves; Small winged fishes on the shrouds alight; And beauteous dolphins gently play'd a round. Tho' faster than the Tropic-bird they flew, Oft Junio cried. Ah! when shall we see land? Soon land they made and now in thought he clasp'd
His Indian bride, and deem'd his toils o'erpaid.
She, no less anxious, every evening walk'd
On the cool margin of the purple main, Intent her Junio's vessel to descry.
One eve (faint calms for many a day had rag’d) The winged Demons of the tempest rose ;
Thunder, and rain, and lightning's awful power She fled : could innocence, could beauty claim Exemption from the grave, the ethereal bolt, That stretch'd her speechless, o'er her lovely head Had innocently roll’d.
Meanwhile, impatient Junio leap'd ashore, Regardless of the Dæmons of the storm.
Ah, youth! what woes, too great for man te bear,
Are ready to burst on thee? Urge not so Thy flying courser. Soon Theana's porch Receiv'd him; at his sight, the ancient slaves Affrighted shriek, and to the chamber point : — Confounded, yet unknowing what they meant, He enter'd hasty——
Ah! what a sight for one who lov'd so well! All pale and cold, in every feature death, Theana lay; and yet a glimpse of joy
Play'd on her face, while with faint faltering voice,
She thus address'd the youth, whom yet she knew:
« Welcome, my Junio, to thy native shore ! Thy sight repays this summons of my fate : » Live, and live happy: sometimes think of me: » By night, by day, you still engag'd my care; » And next to God, you now my thoughts employ: » Accept of this My little all I give;
» Would it were larger ».—Nature could no more; She look'd, embrac'd him, with a groan expir'd.
But say, what strains, what language can express
The thousand pangs, which tore the lover's breast?
Upon her breathless corse himself he threw, And to her clay-cold lips, with trembling haste, Ten thousand kisses gave. He strove to speak; Nor words he found : he claspt her in his arms; He sigh'd, he swoon'd, look'd up, and died
One grave contains this hapless,
And still the Cane-isles tell their matchless love!
WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD
THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,
The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care > No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. Await alike th'inevitable hour.
The path of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn isle and fretted vault; The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands,that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoil of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness in the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of the fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th'applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes,
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