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And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long live the king,
And Gilpin long live he;

And when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!

5. HUMAN FRAILTY.

Weak and irresolute is man,
The purpose of to-day,
Woven with toil into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.

The bow well bent and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain,
But passion rudely snaps the string,
And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part,

Virtue engages his assent,

But pleasure wins his heart.

'Tis here the folly of the wise

Through all his art we view,
And while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.

Bound on a voyage of awful length,
And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail
To reach the distant coast,

The breath of heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.

6. ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

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.
O 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 ain out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speechI 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 bestow'd 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 cheer'd by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold

Or all that this world can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,

Or smil'd when a sabbath appear'd.

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?

Oh tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to sec.

How fleet is a glance of the mind,
Compared with the speed of its flight!
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-wingéd 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 is mercy in every place,

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

And reconciles man to his lot.

CCXXII. RICHARD CUMBERLAND, 1732–1811

CALYPSO.

PROTEUS AND CALYPSO.

This storm which I have raised,
Will call up Proteus from the troubled deep:
On the sea-shore, upon the western point,
Within his oozy haunt you'll find the god;
A prophet, as thou know'st, he can resolve me,
If 'tis decreed Ulysses shall revisit

His native Ithaca; to me, alas!

The book of fate is shut. ANTIOPE. And kindly shut;
Why wilt thou urge enquiry? CAL. Nay, but go.
To all but thee ungentle, the fond monster

Gloats on thy beauties: thou through all his forms
Canst fix the shifting deity: away!

But, if thy charms prevail not, take these fetters,
And, by my nymphs assisted, cast them on him
And bring him bound before us.

PROTEUS. Peace, peace! forbear to lash the deep,
What is this mighty coil you keep,

Ye brawling winds? would you uprend
The solid-seated rocks, and send
The dashing billows to the sky ?

Up, father Neptune, hear my cry!

The scaly subjects of my peaceful reign,
Protect, great sire, and let me sleep again.

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Ah! you're too late! he's gone, escap'd . . . and look
He glares a lion . . . stand, nor be amazed;
He has no power to harm you: yes, deceiver,
I know thee and thy arts; that brutal form
Suits thy base nature. Give the chains to me,
Yet, yet, I'll fetter him . . . Hah, what is this?
A flaming fire! He can take any form,
Each living thing, the elements themselves,
All nature is his own; yet wait awhile;
Too gross and sleepy for that active flame,
He soon will shift, and see! 'tis done.
A rilling fountain . . . Fair betide the change!
To thine own murmurs I bequeath thee, sluggard.
CCXXIII. HANNAH COWLEY, 1733—1809.

1. VICE.

He falls

Ah! what a sea of crimes, one step from shore,
Bears me away! Thou whirling eddy, Vice!
Touch but the outmost circle of thy ring,
Thy strong resistless current draws us in:
Torn from the shore, despairing we look back
And hurried on, are overwhelm'd and lost!

2. MAN'S FANTASY.

How self-degraded seems now lordly Man!
A being, formed in nature's vanity
To show how great, how exquisite her skill,
With mind so powerful that the universe
In its vast scheme its reach eludes not,
Lets thus one passion powers so great absorb,
And yields them all mere slaves to fantasy.

CCXXIV. JOHN OGILVIE, 1733-1814.

AMBITION.

Short is ambition's gay deceitful dream;

Though wreaths of blooming laurel bind her brow;

Calm thought dispels the visionary scheme,
And time's cold breath dissolves the withering bough.
Slow as some miner saps the aspiring tower,
When working secret with destructive aim;
Unseen, unheard, thus moves the stealing hour,
But works the fall of empire, pomp and name.
The busts of grandeur and the pomp of power,
Can these bid sorrow's gushing tears subside?
Can these avail in that tremendous hour,

When death's cold hand congeals the purple tide? Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more:

Pride's thought sublime, and beauty's kindling bloom, Serve but to sport one flying moment o'er,

And swell with pompous verse the escutcheon'd tomb.

CCXXV. GEO. COLMAN THE ELDER,
1733-1794.

PSALM XXXIX, IMITATED.

I will take heed, I said, I will take heed,
Nor trespass with my tongue; will keep my mouth
As with a bridle, while the sinner's near.

-Silent I mused, and e'en from good refrained;
But, full of pangs, my heart was hot within me,
The lab'ring fire burst forth, and loosed my tongue.

Lord, let me know the measure of my days,
Make me to know how weak, how frail I am!
My days are as a span, mine age as nothing,
And man is altogether vanity.

Man walketh in an empty shade; in vain
Disquieting his soul, he heaps up riches,
Knowing not who shall gather them. And now
Where rests my hope, O Lord ? It rests in Thee.
Forgive me mine offences! Make me not
A scorn unto the foolish! I was dumb,
And opened not my mouth, for 'twas thy doing.
Oh take thy stroke away! Thy hand destroys me.

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