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For any living thing, hath faculties
CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR. Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every Man in arms should wish to be? --It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought: Whose high endeavours are an inward light That make the path before him always bright: Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care; Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! Turns his necessity to glorious gain ; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature's highest dower; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives; By objects, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; Is placable--because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice; More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. -'T is he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doch seldom on a right foundation rest, He fixes good on good alone, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows: -Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means; and there will stand On honourable terms, or else retire, And ju himself possess his own desire; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state ; Whom they must follow; on whose liead must fall, Like showers of mapna, if they come at all: Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace; But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a Lover; and attired
and to noble deeds give birth,
A POET'S EPITAPH.
Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
Physician art thou? One, all eyes,
Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing In concord with his River murmuring by; Or in some silent field, while timid Spring Is yet uncheered by other minstrelsy.
Who shall inherit Thee when death has laid
If he be one that feels, with skill to part
With Thee he will not dread a toilsome day, His powerful Servant, his inspiring Mate! And, when thou art past service, worn away, Thee a surviving soul shall consecratc.
Flis thrift thy uselessness will never scoro; An Heir-loom in his cottage wilt thou be :High will he hang thee up, and will adorn His rustic chimney with the last of Thee!
TO MY SISTER.
WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY NOUSE, AND
SENT BY MY LITTLE BOY.
It is the first mild day of March :
There is a blessing in the air,
My Sister! (tis a wish of mine)
Edward will come with you; and pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress; And bring no book : for this one day We'll give to idleness.
No joyless forms shall regulate
Love, now an universal birth,
-A Moralist perchance appears;
One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling
Shut close the door; press down the latch;
But who is He, with modest looks,
He is retired as noontide dew,
The outward shows of sky and earth,
In common things that round us lie
But he is weak, both Man and Boy,
-Come hither in thy hour of strength;
TO THE SPADE OF A FRIEND,
(AN AGRICULTURIST.) COMPOSED WHILE WE WERE LABOURING TOGETHER IN
Spade! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his Lands,
Rare Master has it been thy lot to know;
Health, meekness, ardour, quietness secure,
One moment now may give us more
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
From Heaven if this belief be sent,
SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN,
WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED.
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Worn out by hunting feats-bereft
No man like him the horn could sound,
He all the country could outrun,
But he is lean and he is sick,
Some silent laws our hearts will make,
And from the blessed power that rolls
Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
TO A YOUNG LADY,
WHO HAD BEEN REPROACHED FOR TAKING LONG WALKS
IN THE COUNTRY.
Dear Child of Nature, let them rail !
There, healthy as a Shepherd-boy,
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING,
I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
To her fair works did Nature link
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The birds around me hopped and played ;
Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
« You're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
The wears ioto his eyes were brought,
TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG. Lie here, without a record of thy worth, Beneath a covering of the common earth! It is not from unwillingness to praise, Or want of love, that bere no Stone we raise ; More thou deserv'st; but this Man gives to Man, Brother to Brother, this is all we can. Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear Shall find thee through all changes of the year: This Oak points out thy grave; the silent Tree Will gladly stand a monument of thee.
I grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past; And willingly have laid thee here at last: For thou hadst lived, till every thing that cheers la thee had yielded to the weight of years ; Extreme old age had wasted thee away; And left thee but a glimmering of the day; Thy ears were deaf; and feeble were thy knees, I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze, Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed; Both Man and Woman wepi when Thou wert dead; Not only for a thousand thoughts that were, Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share;
But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee,
A village Schoolmaster was he,
day like this which I have left
In the School of -- is a Tablet, on which are inscribed, in gilt
letters, the Names of the several Persons wbo bave been Scboolmasters there since the Foundation of the School, with ibe Time at which they entered upon and quitted their Office. Opposite one of those Names the Author wrote the following Lines.
IF Nature, for a favourite Child
-When through this little wreck of fame,
And, if a sleeping tear should wake,
« With rod and line I sued the sport
Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er,
The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs
« And, turning from her grave, I met,
Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup
«No fountain from its rocky cave Eer tripped with foot so free ; She seemed as happy as a wave That dances on the sea.
-Thou Soul of God's best carthly mould !
« There came from me a sigh of pain
THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. We walked along, while bright and red Uprose the morning sun; And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, # The will of God be done!»
Matthew is in his grave, yet now,