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July the Thirtieth

Thomas Gray, Died 1771
Samuel Rogers, Born 1763

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC

Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee
And was the safeguard of the West; the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest child of Liberty.

She was a maiden city, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And when she took unto herself a mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sea.

And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay,
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid

When her long life hath reach'd its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
Of that which once was great is pass'd away.

William Wordsworth

ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802

Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea,
One of the Mountains; each a mighty voice:
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen music, Liberty!

There came a tyrant, and with holy glee
Thou fought'st against him, - but hast vainly striven :
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven,
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.

Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft;
Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left-
For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be

That Mountain floods should thunder as before,
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee!

William Wordsworth

ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
Barren of every glorious theme,

In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame;

In happy climes, where from the genial sun
And virgin earth such scenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems outdone,
And fancied beauties by the true;

In happy climes, the seat of innocence,
Where nature guides and virtue rules,
Where men shall not impose, for truth and sense,
The pedantry of courts and schools.

There shall be sung another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage,
The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day;
Time's noblest offspring is the last.

George Berkeley

TOM BOWLING

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew;

No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For death has broach'd him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful, below, he did his duty;
But now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare,

His friends were many and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:
And then he'd sing, so blithe and jolly,
Ah, many's the time and oft!

But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,

Shall give, to call life's crew together,
The word to pipe "all hands."

Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,

In vain Tom's life has doff'd :

For though his body's under hatches,
His soul has gone aloft.

Charles Dibdin

THE LITTLE BLACK BOY

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black; but, oh, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,

But I am black, as if bereaved of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree;
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap, and kissed me,

And, pointing to the east, began to say:

"Look on the rising sun; there God does live,

And gives His light, and gives His heat away; And flowers, and trees, and beasts, and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.

"And we are put on earth a little space,

That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

"For when our souls have learned the heat to bear, The clouds wili vanish; we shall hear His voice, Saying: 'Come from the grove, my love and care, And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.""

Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me,

And thus I say to little English boy:

When I from black, and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,

I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
William Blake

NURSE'S SONG

When the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill,

My heart is at rest within my breast,

And everything else is still.

Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise;

Come, come, leave off play, and let us away

Till the morning appears in the skies.

"No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep;

Besides in the sky the little birds fly,

And the hills are all covered with sheep."

- Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed.

The little ones leap'd, and shouted, and laugh'd;

And all the hills echoèd.

William Blake

AS THRO' THE LAND

As thro' the land at eve we went,
And pluck'd the ripen'd ears,

We fell out, my wife and I,
Oh, we fell out I know not why,
And kiss'd again with tears.
And blessings on the falling out
That all the more endears,

When we fall out with those we love
And kiss again with tears!

For when we came where lies the child
We lost in other years,

There above the little grave,

Oh, there above the little grave,

We kiss'd again with tears.

Alfred Tennyson

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