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Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away 10 In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Together mix'd ; sweet recreation,
Thus unlamented let me die ;
20 A. POPE.
Which I must ne’er enjoy ;
O tell your poor blind boy !
5 You say the sun shines bright ; I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night ? My day or night myself I make
Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I ever keep awake
With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear
15 A loss I ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy : Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy.
20 C. CIBBER.
ON A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A
TUB OF GOLDFISHES
The azure flowers that blow,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared :
The velvet of her paws,
She saw; and purr'd applause.
Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide
The Genii of the stream:
Betray'd a golden gleam.
With many an ardent wish
What Cat's averse to Fish ?
Nor knew the gulf between-
She tumbled headlong in !
Eight times emerging from the flood
Some speedy aid to send :-
And be with caution bold :
40 And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, Nor all that glisters, gold !
Wearied then and glad of rest,
Ever-busy Time prepares ;
30 A. PHILIPS.
Arose from out the azure main,
And guardian angels sung this strain : Rule, Britannia ! rule the waves !
Britons never will be slaves. The nations not so blest as thee
Must in their turns to tyrants fall, While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all. Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ;
All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame,
But work their woe and thy renown. To thee belongs the rural reign ;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine i The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair ;
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, 25
And manly hearts to guard the fair :Rule, Britannia ! rule the waves ! Britons never will be slaves !
A Pindaric Ode * Ruin seize thee, ruthless King !
Confusion on thy banners wait !
They mock the air with idle state.
5 Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears l' -Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, 10 As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array :Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; • To arms !' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his
quivering lance. On a rock, whose haughty brow
15 Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air ;) 20 And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : * Hark, how each giant oak and desert cave
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 24 O’er thee, O King ! their hundred arms they wave
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ;