A COUNTRY LIFE. How blest the man who, in these peaceful plains, Of rural life, he dwells; and with him dwells Michael Bruce, 1746-'67. THE IDEAL OF A STATE. WHAT Constitutes a state? Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned; Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; Where low-born baseness wafts perfume to pride : With powers as far above dull brutes endued, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; Men, who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain; And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain; And sovereign Law, that with collected will O'er thrones and globes elate, Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. Smit by her sacred frown The fiend Dissension like a vapor sinks, And e'en the all-dazzling Crown Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. Sir William Jones, 1746-'94 1 TO AN INFANT. THERE, on the nurse's lap, a new-born child, Thou still may'st smile, while all around thee weep. ODE TO THE CUCKOO. SWEET bird thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No Winter in thy year! O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! John Logan, 1748-'88. OSSIAN'S HYMN TO THE SUN. O THOU whose beams the sea-girt earth array, O Sun! what fountain hid from human eyes With heaven's pure fire and everlasting light? COMPLAINT OF NATURE. John Logan. FEW are thy days and full of woe, O man of woman born! Thy doom is written, dust thou art, Determined are the days that fly John Logan. RESIGNATION. O GOD, whose thunder shakes the sky, Thy mystic mazes of thy will, O teach me in the trying hour, Thomas Chatterton, 1752-0. THE PROPHECY. THIS truth of old was sorrow's friend- How long Oppression's clock can go; Thomas Chatie to. L'AMOUR TIMIDE. Ir in that breast, so good, so pure, Pity the sorrows I endure; The cause I must not, dare not tell. The grief that on my quiet preys, That rends my heart, that checks my tongue, I fear will last me all my days, But feel it will not last me long. Sir John H. Moore, 1756–'80. MELANCHOLY. YET still, enamor'd of the tender tale, Pale Passion haunts thy grove's romantic gloom, THE BEGGAR. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ! Whose trembling limbs have born him to your door, Whose days are dwindling to the shortest span, Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. These tattered clothes my poverty bespeak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; Thomas Moss-1808 RURAL SOUNDS. Nor rurals sights alone, but rural sounds, The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds William Cowper, 1731–1800. PATRIOTISM. ENGLAND, with all thy faults, I love thee still, Where English minds and manners may be found, Be fickle, and thy year, most part deformed William Cowper. ENGLISH LIBERTY. We love THE king who loves the law, respects his bounds, We trust him not too far. King though he be, He is ours Or covet more than freemen choose to grant : William Couper. ON THE RECEIPT OF HIS MOTHER'S PICTURE. OH that those lips had language! Life has pass'd |