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• Here RUSSEL lies, enfranchis'd by the grave ! • He priz'd his birthright, nor would live a llave. • Few were his words, but honest and sincere, • Dear were his friends, his country ftill more dear; • In parents, children, wife, fupremely blefs'd, • But that one paflion swallow'd all the rest ; « To guard her freedom was his only pride ;

Such was his love, and for that love he dy'd.

• Yet fear not thou, when Liberty displays
• Her glorious flag, to steer his course to praise;
• For know, (whoe'er thou art that read'f his fate,
• And think'it, perhaps, his sufferings were too great!)
• Bless'd as he was, at her imperial call,
• Wife, children, parents, he refign'd them all;
• Each fond affection then forsook his foul,
• And Amor Patriæ occupied the whole ;
• In that great cause he joy'd to meet his doom,
• Blefs'd the keen axe, and triumph'd o'er the tomb !

The hour draws near But what are hours to me?
Hours, days, and years hence'undistinguish'd flee!
Time, and his glass, unheeded påss away,
Absorb’d and lost in one vast flood of day!
On Freedom's wings my soul is borne on high,
And soars exulting to it's native sky!

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THE WINTER'S WALK.

BY DR JOHNSON.

BEE

EHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,

What dreary prospects round us tife; The naked hill, the leaflefs grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies !

Nor

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BY

DEAR SIR,

Dublin, July 5, 1744.
Y the lyre of Apollo, the locks of the muses,

And the pure lucid stream Aganippe produces,
My Ellis, I love thee, then pay me in kind,
Let the thought of a friend never flip from your mind;

2

So

· Here RUSSEL lies, enfranchis'd by the grave! • He priz'd his birthright, nor would live a flave. • Few were his words, but honest and sincere, • Dear were his friends, his country still more dear; • In parents, children, wife, fupremely bless'd, • But that one passion swallow'd all the rest ; To guard her freedom was his only pride ; • Such was his love, and for that love he dy'd.

• Yet fear not thou, when Liberty displays
• Her glorious Aag, to steer his course to praise;
• For know, (whoe'er thou art that read'ft his fate,
• And think’ft, perhaps, his sufferings were too great!)
• Bless’d as he was, at her imperial call,
• Wife, children, parents, he refign'd them all ;
• Each fond affection then forsook his soul,
• And Amor Patriæ occupied the whole ;
• In that great cause he joy'd to meet his doom,
• Bless'd the keen axe, and triumph'd o'er the tomb !

The hour draws near -But what are hours to me?
Hours, days, and years hence undistinguish'd flee!
Time, and his glass, unheeded påss away,
Absorb’d and lost in oné vast flood of day!
On Freedom's wings my foul is borne on high,
And soars exulting to it's native sky!

THE WINTER'S WALK.

BY DR JOHNSON.

BEH

EHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,

What dreary prospects. round us rise ; The naked hill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies !

Nor

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So may fancy and judgment together combine,
And thy bosom be filld with an ardour divine ;
That thy brows may the laurel with justice still claim,
And the temple of liberty mount thee to fame.

If it e'er can give pleasure to know my career,
When proud London I left with intentions so queer,
Accept it in verse. On the very first day
When the queen of warm paffions precedes the fair May;
When, fo custom prescribes, and, to follow old rules,
One half of mankind makes the other half fools ;
From the town I firft breath'd in, I sally'd in haste,
Thro' Highgate, and Finchley, and Barnet, I pass'd:
At St. Alban’s I dix'd with a laughing gay crew,
Not compleat was the set without Tucker and you.
Where * the Eighth of our Harries deserted his mate,
And procur'd a full fentence against his old Kate,
Our brisk company supp'd, while our wine gave a spring,
And tho' at the Crown, we ne'er thought of the King.
The morrow fucceeding I got from my bed, ::
As a fheet, all the roads were with fnows overspread;
But the gods, who will never abandon a poet,
As oft has been said, condescended to show it:
In a coach and fix horlès the storm I defy'd;
And, left by my friends, thro’ the tempeft I ride.
Newport-Pagnel receiv'd me, and gave me a dinner,
And a bed at Northampton was press'd by a finner :
No signs of fair weather, the Weft-Chefter coach
At nine the next morning; a welcome approach,
Presents fresh example ; I travell’d all day,
At Crick eat my dinner, at Coventry lay ;
I tremble whene'er I reflect on the roads
That lead to those dirty worm-çaten abodes,
Where a woman t rode naked their taxes to clear,
And a tåylor for peeping paid damnably dear ;,

* Dunstable:

† Lady Godina.

For

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