EMPERORS and Kings, how oft have temples rung
With impious thanksgiving, the Almighty's scorn!
How oft above their altars have been hung
Trophies that led the good and wise to mourn
Triumphant wrong, battle of battle born,

And sorrow that to fruitless sorrow chung!
Now, from Heaven-sanctioned victory, Peace is sprung ;
In this firm hour Salvation lifts her horn.

Glory to arms! But, conscious that the nerve.
Of popular reason, long mistrusted, freed

Your thrones, ye Powers, from duty fear to swerve!
Be just, be grateful; nor, the oppressor's creed '/
Reviving, heavier chastisement deservę

Than ever forced unpitied hearts to bleed.

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DEDICATION,

(SENT WITH THESE POEMS, IN M.S., TO →→→,)

DEAR Fellow-travellers! think not that the Muse,
To you presenting these memorial Lays,
Can hope the general eye thereon would gaze,
As on a mirror that gives back the hues
Of living Nature; no—though free to choose
The greenest bowers, the most inciting ways,
The fairest landscapes and the brightest days--
Her skill she tried with less ambitions riews,
For You she wrought: Ye only can supply
The life, the truth, the beauty : she confides
In that enjoyment which with You abides,
Trusts to your love and vivid memory ;
Thus far contented, that for You her verse
Shall lack not power the * meeting soul to pierce!'