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As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

VERSES

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK

DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF
JUAN FERNANDEZ.—Cowper.
I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute ;
From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
() Solitude ! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,

Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,

I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts, that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see ;
They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man,
Oh, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again !
My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion ! what treasures untold

Reside in that heavenly word ! More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford ! But the sound of the church-going bell,

These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when the Sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report,

Of a land I shall visit no more ! My friends do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is the glance of the mind !

Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there; But alas ! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place,

And mercy, encouraging thought ! Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

SOME MURMUR WHEN THEIR SKY IS

CLEAR. Trench.

SOME murmur, when their sky is clear

And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue;
And some with thankful love are filled,

If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild

The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,

In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,

And all good things denied ;
And hearts in poorest huts admire

How Love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)

Such rich provision made.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.-Campbell.

YE mariners of England !
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave; Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow !

ODE TO DUTY.- Wordsworth.

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 :
May joy be theirs while life shall last !
And thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!
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 blest are they who in the main
This faith, e'en now, do entertain :
Live in the spirit of this creed ;
Yet find that other strength, 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 :
Full oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task imposed, from day to day ;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

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