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Now joy, old England, raise
For the tidings of thy might,

By the festal cities' blaze,
Whilst the wine cup shines in light ;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep

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Full many a fathom deep
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true,

On the deck of fame that died
With the gallant good Riou :
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave !

While the billow mournful rolls
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave !

T. CAMPBELL.

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208

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ODE TO DUTY
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God !

O Duty ! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring, and reprove ; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe,

From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity ! There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them ; who, in love and truth Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth : Glad hearts | without reproach or blot, Who do thy work, and know it not :

O! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around

them cast:

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Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold,

Live in the spirit of this creed,
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried,

No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have reposed my trust : And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd

The task, in smoother walks to stray ; But thee I now would serve more strict)y, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul

Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control,

But in the quietness of thought : Me this uncharter'd freedom tires ; I feel the weight of chance desires :

My hopes no more must change their name; I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear

The Godhead's most benignant grace ; Nor know we anything so fair

As is the smile upon thy face : Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, And fragrance in thy footing treads;

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are

fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power!

I call thee : I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour ;

O let my weakness have an end !

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Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;

The confidence of reason give ;
And in the light of Truth thy bondman let me live.

W. WORDSWORTH.

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209 ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind !

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art

For there thy habitation is the heart The heart which love of Thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd,

To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom,

Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place

And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, 10 Until his very steps have left a trace

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God.

LORD BYRON.

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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.

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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, 13 And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee !

W. WORDSWORTH.

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ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN

REPUBLIC

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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.

W. WORDSWORTH.

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LONDON, MDCCCII O Friend ! I know not which way I must look

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest

To think that now our life is only drest For show ; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook,

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Or groom !We must run glittering like a brook

In the open sunshine, or we are unblest;

The wealthiest man among us is the best :
No grandeur now in Nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,

This is idolatry; and these we adore :
Plain living and high thinking are no more :

The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.

W. WORDSWORTH.

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THE SAME
Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour :

England hath need of thee : she is a fen

Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men :

O! raise us up, return to us again ;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart :

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea,
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ;

So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

W. WORDSWORTH.

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When I have borne in memory what has tamed

Great nations ; how ennobling thoughts depart

When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold,—some fears unnamed

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