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And rights submitted left him none to seize.
At length his sov'reign frowns—the train of state
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate:
Where'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye;
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;
Now drops at once the pride of awful state-
The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liv'ried army, and the menial lord.
With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed,
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.
Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings,
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

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On what foundation stands the warror's pride, How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide. A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,

45 No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain. No joys to him pacific sceptres yieldWar sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;

50 Behold surrounding kings their pow'rs combine, And one capitulate, and one resign: Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; “Think nothing gained,” he cries, “till naught remain! On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,

55 And all be mine beneath the polar sky!” The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait. Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost.

60 He comes; nor want nor cold his course delayHide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day! The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands, Condemned a needy supplicant to wait While ladies interpose and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound,

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Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand.
He left the name at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral or adorn a tale.

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Where, then, shall Hope and Fear their objects find? 75 Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? Enquirer, cease; petitions yet remain Which Heav'n may hear. Nor deem religion vain; Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice, Safe in His pow'r Whose eyes discern afar The secret ambush of a specious 'pray'r; I Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, Secure, whate'er He'gives, He gives the best. Yet when the sense of Sacred Presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires, Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, Obedient passions, and a will resigned; For love, which scarce collective man can fill; For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,

95 Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat: These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain; These goods He grants Who grants the pow'r to gain; With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find. 1748!

1749.

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WILLIAM SHENSTONE

FROM

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS

In ev'ry village marked with little spire,
Embow'red in trees, and hardly known to fame,

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There dwells, in lowly shed and mean attire,
A matron old, whom we schoolmistress name,
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame;
They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent,
Awed by the pow'r of this relentless dame,

And ofttimes, on vagaries idly bent,
For unkempt hair or task unconned are sorely shent.

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And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree,
Which Learning near her little dome did stowe;
Whilom a twig of small regard to see,
Though now so wide its waving branches flow,
And work the simple vassals mickle woe-
For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew
But their limbs shuddered and their pulse beat low,

And as they looked they found their horror grew,
And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the view.

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One ancient hen she took delight to feed,
The plodding pattern of the busy dame;
Which, ever and anon, impelled by need,
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came-
Such favour did her past deportment claim,-
And if neglect had lavished on the ground
Fragment of bread, she would collect the same,

For well she knew, and quaintly could expound,
What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb she found.

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In elbow chair, like that of Scottish stem
By the sharp tooth of cank'ring eld defaced,
In which, when he receives his diadem,
Our sov'reign prince and liefest liege is placed,
The matron sate; and some with rank she graced
(The source of children's and of courtier's pride!),
Redressed affronts—for vile affronts there passed,–

And warned them not the fretful to deride,
But love each other dear whatever them betide.

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Right well she knew each temper to descry:
To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise;
Some with vile copper prize exalt on high,
And some entice with pittance small of praise;
And other some with baleful sprig she 'frays.
Ev'n absent, she the reins of pow'r doth hold,
While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways,

Forewarned, if little bird their pranks behold,
'T will whisper in her ear and all the scene unfold.

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Lo, now with state she utters the command !
Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair :
Their books of stature small they take in hand,
Which with pellucid horn securèd are,
To save from finger wet the letters fair;
The work so gay, that on their back is seen,
St. George's high atchievements does declare,

On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been
Kens the forth-coming rod—unpleasing sight, I ween!

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Ah, luckless he, and born beneath the beam
Of evil star! it irks me whilst I write;
As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream,
Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight,
Sighed as he sung, and did in tears indite:
For, brandishing the rod, she doth begin
To loose the brogues, the stripling's late delight,

And down they drop; appears his dainty skin,
Fair as the furry coat of whitest ermilin.

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O ruthful scene! when from a nook obscure
His little sister doth his peril see,
All playful as she sate she grows demure;
She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee;
She meditates a pray'r to set him free:
Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree)

To her sad grief that swells in either eye,
And wrings her so that all for pity she could die.

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No longer can she now her shrieks command;
And hardly she forbears, through aweful fear,

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To rushen forth and with presumptuous hand
To stay harsh justice in its mid career.
On thee she calls, on thee, her parent dear!
(Ah, too remote to ward the shameful blow!)
She sees no kind domestic visage near,

And soon a flood of tears begins to flow,
And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe.

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But ah, what pen his piteous plight may trace,
Or what device his loud laments explain-
The form uncouth of his disguised face,
The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain,
The plenteous show'r that does his cheek distain,-
When he, in abject wise, implores the dame,
Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gain,

Or when from high she levels well her aim,
And through the thatch his cries each falling stroke pro-

claim?

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The other tribe, aghast, with sore dismay
Attend, and conn their tasks with mickle care;
By turns, astonied, ev'ry twig survey,
And from their fellow's hateful wounds beware,
Knowing, I wist, how each the same may share;
Till fear has taught them a performance meet,
And to the well-known chest the dame repair,

Whence oft with sugared cates she doth 'em greet, And ginger-bread y-rare-now, certes, doubly sweet! 1736.

1737.

WILLIAM COLLINS

FROM

ORIENTAL ECLOGUES

ECLOGUE II

HASSAN, OR THE CAMEL-DRIVER

Scene, the desert. Time, mid-day. In silent horror o'er the boundless waste The driver Hassan with his camels passed: One cruse of water on his back he bore,

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