"WHAT TRANSPORT TO RETRACE OUR BOYISH PLAYS, OUR EASY BLISS, WHEN EACH THING JOY SUPPLIED!"

92

BY MEANS THAT EVIL SEEM TO NARROW MEN,

THE CARAVAN IN THE DESERT.

"WHAT IS VIRTUE BUT REPOSE OF MIND, A PURE ETHEREAL CALM THAT KNOWS NO STORM ?"-THOMSON.

Nearer and nearer still they darkening come,
Till, with the general all-involving storm
Swept up, the whole continuous wilds arise;
And by their noonday fount dejected thrown,
Or sunk at night in sad disastrous sleep,
Beneath descending hills, the caravan

Is buried deep. In Cairo's crowded streets
The impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain,
And Mecca saddens at the long delay.

[JAMES THOMSON, born 1700, died 1748, will always hold a high rank
among the English minstrels from his singularly great powers of description.
He observed nature closely, and painted her with equal truth and vigour.
His finest work is "The Seasons," a poem which sketches the varying
aspects of earth during the revolving year; but his "Castle of Indolence"
is scarcely inferior in true poetic spirit. The above extract is from "The
Seasons."]

SUPERIOR BEINGS WORK THEIR MYSTIC WILL."-THOMSON.

"OH, BLESSED BRITANNIA IN THY PRESENCE BLESSED, THOU GUARDIAN OF MANKIND !"-THOMSON.

TO WHOM HER RULING THUNDER OCEAN BEARS."-THOMSON.

"HOW MANY DRINK THE CUP OF GRIEF, OR EAT THE BITTER BREAD OF MISERY!"-THOMSON.

93

[JAMES THOMSON. From the masque of "King Arthur."

The music to

this noble song, which has deservedly become our national hymn, was com-
posed by Dr. Arne.]

"LET THE WORLD REVERE US, FOR OUR PEOPLE'S RIGHTS AND LAWS."-THOMAS CAMPBELL.

"THE DECK IT WAS THEIR FIELD OF FAME, AND OCEAN WAS THEIR GRAVE."-THOMAS CAMPBELL.

A ROYAL MADMAN.

CHARLES XII. OF SWEDEN.

IN what foundation stands the warrior's pride,
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide;
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain;
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain;
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;
Behold surrounding kings their powers combine,
And one capitulate, and one resign;

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;
"Think nothing gained," he cries, "till nought remain;
On Moscow's walls till Gothic banners fly,
And all be mine beneath the Polar sky."

AND MAKE PERPETUAL MOAN."-TENNYSON.

66

UNNUMBERED SUPPLIANTS CROWD PREFERment's gate."-JOHNSON.

The march begins in military state,

And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,
And Winter barricades the realms of frost;
He comes, nor Want and Cold his course delay;
Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day : *
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;

Condemned a needy supplicant to wait;
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend?
Did no subverted empire mark his end?
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; †
He left a name at which the world grew pale,

To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

[SAMUEL JOHNSON, 1709-1784, better known to posterity as the author of "The Lives of the Poets," "Rasselas," and "The Rambler," than as the author of "The Vanity of Human Wishes" (from which the foregoing lines are quoted), and "London"-two didactic poems of great merit.]

"FROM HELICON'S HARMONIOUS SPRINGS A THOUSAND RILLS THEIR MAZY PROGRESS TAKE."-GRAY.

"CAN STORIED URN OR ANIMATED BUST BACK TO ITS MANSION CALL THE FLEETING BREATH?"-GRAY.

* Charles XII. was totally defeated by Peter the Great of Russia on the
field of Pultowa, or Pultava, July 8, 1709.

He was killed by a chance shot while besieging the small town of
Frederickshald, in Norway, December 11, 1718.

"FRIENDSHIP, PECULIAR BOON OF HEAVEN."-SAMUEL JOHNSON.

"CAN HONOUR'S VOICE PROVOKE THE SILENT DUST, OR FLATTERY SOOTHE THE DULL COLD EAR OF DEATH?"-GRAY.

96

AS VARIOUS TRACTS ENFORCE A VARIOUS TOIL,

ODE TO THE SPRING.

"FULL MANY A GEM OF PUREST RAY SERENE THE DARK UNFATHOMED CAVES OF OCEAN BEAR."-GRAY.

The Attic warbler* pours her throat
Responsive to the cuckoo's note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whispering pleasure as they fly,
Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader, browner shade,

Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water's rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think,—
(At ease reclined in rustic state),—
How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little are the proud,
How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of care;
The panting herds repose:

* That is, Philomela, the nightingale, a bird frequently heard among the groves of Attica, and much celebrated by the Greek poets.

THE MANNERS SPEAK THE IDIOM OF THE SOIL."-GRAY.