"Rome, for empire far renown'd, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the groundHark! the Gaul is at her gates! "Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.

"Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.

"Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they."

Such the bard's prophetic words
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending, as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow;
Rush'd to battle, fought, and died:
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

"Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heav'n awards the vengeance due:

Empire is on us bestow'd,

Shame and ruin wait for you."

COWPER.

TH

36. THE BUILDERS.

[AN EASTERN LEGEND.]

HERE'S an isle far off, under India's skies, Where the mariner oft at eve descries, When the heavens are calm, and the winds asleep, Dark ruins beneath the shining deep, Of towers up-built, as the tale is told, By Lords of that isle, in days of old; Who, aping the Babel-builders' skill, Heap'd stone on stone, aspiring still, Till, lodged aloft on their piles of pride, Earth, sea, and heaven, these Lords defied.

But little they knew, when towering so,
What a mighty power was at work below,
For on land usurp'd from the Giant Sea
They had built their halls of dignity,
Nor dreamt, while high in air they slept,
Of the world of waters, that round them swept,
And the working waves, that day by day
Were mining their massive mounds away.

In vain did the wise, whose prescient ear
The coming crash in each breeze could hear,
Forewarn these Lords of the lofty towers,
How vast were the deep's encroaching powers,
How mighty the waves of that angry sea,
Coming like crested chivalry;

It was all in vain-unmoved they stood,
Each like Canute to the swelling flood
Saying, "Thou com'st not to this spot;
But the surging waters heard them not.

were gone.

In the light of heaven one instant shone
Both Lords and towers, and the next-
Dark over them swept the mighty main ;
And the Giant Sea had his own again.

T. MOORE.

37. GRATITUDE TO GOD.

WHEN all thy mercies, O my God,

My rising soul surveys;
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.

O, how shall words, with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare
That glows within my ravish'd heart!
But Thou canst read it there.

Thy providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redrest,
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries,
Thy mercy lent an ear,

Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt
To form themselves in prayer.

Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd,

Before my infant heart conceived

From whence these comforts flow'd.

When in the slippery paths of youth,
With heedless steps I ran;
Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man.

Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,
It gently clear'd my way;
And through the pleasing snares of vice,
More to be fear'd than they.

When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou
With health renew'd my face;

And when in sin and sorrow sunk,

Revived my soul with

grace.

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made my cup run o'er,

And in a kind and faithful friend
Has doubled all my store.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts,
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life,
Thy goodness I'll pursue;
And, after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.

When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,

My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy shall adore.

Through all eternity to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise;

For, oh eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise!

ADDISON.

38. THE THREE SONS.

HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old,

I eyes gentle mould:

They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears,
That my child is grave and wise of head, beyond his childish years.
I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair,
And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air;
I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me,
And loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency.
But that which others most admire is the thought that fills his
mind,

The food for grave inquiring speech he everywhere doth find. Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk; He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk Nor cares he much for childish play, doats not on bat or ball, But looks on manhood's ways and works, and aptly mimics all. His little head is busy still, and oftentimes perplex'd

With thoughts about this world of care, and thoughts about the

next.

He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she teacheth him to pray, And strange, and sweet, and solemn are the words which he will

say.

Oh! should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like me,
A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be;

And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow,
I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now.
I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three,

I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be;
How silver sweet those tones of his when he prattles on my knee