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More strong and speedy than his parent wind,
And (which his foes with fear and horror fills)

Out from his mouth a two-edged sword he darts,

Whose sharpest steel the bone and marrow parts, And with his keenest point unbreast the naked hearts.

The Dragon, wounded with his flaming brand,

They take, and in strong bonds and fetters tie: Short was the fight, nor could he long withstand Him whose appearance is his victory.

So now he's bound in adamantine chain :

He storms, he roars, he yells for high disdain ; His net is broke, the fowl go free, the fowler's ta'en.

Soon at this sight the knights revive again,

As fresh as when the flowers from winter's tomb, When now the sun brings back his nearest train, Peep out again from their fresh mother's womb:

The primrose, lighted new, her flame displays,

And frights the neighbor hedge with fiery rays ! And all the world renew their mirth and sportive plays.

The prince, who saw his long imprisonment

Now end in never-ending liberty,
To meet the victor from his castle went,
And falling down, clasping his royal knee,

Pours out deserved thanks in grateful praise :

But him the heavenly Saviour soon doth raise, And bids him spend in joy his never-ending days.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

DRUMMOND of Hawthornden, the first Scottish poet who wrote well in English, was born in 1585. He was bred at Edinburgh, and studied the civil law at Bourges; but on the death of his father he forsook that pursuit

, and retired to his patrimony, there to enjoy a literary life. During the civil wars he was compelled by the ruling party to furnish his quota of men, to fight against the king, whom he loved; and when the monarch was put to death by the conquering faction, the spirit of Drummond was so broken, that it brought him to the grave. This happened in 1649. As a poet, Drummond has much sweetness and classic elegance, but little fancy or vigor. His sonnets are, perhaps, the best of his performances. These have been pronounced by the best critics as some of the most finished specimens of this kind of composition.

AN HYMN OF TRUE HAPPINESS.

Amidst the azure clear

Of Jordan's sacred streams-
Jordan, of Lebanon the offspring dear-
When zephyrs flowers unclose,

And sun shine with new beams,
With

grave and stately grace a nymph arose.

Upon her head she wore

Of amaranths a crown;
Her left hand palms, her right a torch did bear;
Unveiled skin's whiteness lay,

Gold hairs in curls hung down,
Eyes sparkled joy, more bright than star of day.

The flood a throne her reared

Of waves, most like that heaven
Where beaming stars in glory turn unsphered ;

The air stood calm and clear,

No sigh by winds was given,
Birds left to sing, herds feed, her voice to hear.

“World-wandering, sorry wights,

Whom nothing can content
Within these varying lists of days and nights,
Whose life ere known amiss,

In glittering griefs is spent,
Come learn,” said she, “what is your

choicest bliss :

“ From toil and pressing cares

How ye may respite find;
A sanctuary from soul-thralling snares,
A port, to harbor sure,

In spite of waves and wind,
Which shall, when time's swift glass is run, endure.

Not happy is that life,

Which you as happy hold;
No, but a sea of fears, a field of strife,
Charged on a throne to sit

With diadems of gold,
Preserved by force, and still observed by wit.

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Huge treasures to enjoy,

Of all her gems spoil Inde,
And Sere's silk in garments t'employ,
Deliciously to feed,

· The Phenix' plume to find,
To rest upon or deck your purple bed.

“ Frail beauty to abuse,

And wanton Sybarites,
On past or present touch of sense to muse,
Never to hear of noise,

But what the ear delights,
Sweet music's charms, or charming flatterer's voice.

“ Nor can it bliss you bring,

Hid nature's depths to know,
Why matter changeth, whence each form doth spring;
Nor that your fame should range,

And after worlds it blow
From Tanais to Nile, from Nile to Gange.

“ All these have not the power

To free the mind from fears,
Nor hideous horror can allay one hour,
When death in stealth doth glance,

In sickness lurks, or years,
And wakes the soul from out her mortal trance.

“No; but blest life is this —

With chaste and pure desire,
To turn unto the load-star of all bliss ;
On God the mind to rest,

Burnt up by sacred fire,
Possessing Him, to be by Him possessed :

“When to the balmy east,

Sun doth his light impart,
Or when he diveth in the lowly west,
And ravisheth the day,

With spotless hand and heart,
Him cheerfully to praise, and to Him pray.

« Take heed each action to,

As ever in his sight;
More fearing doing ill, or passive wo;
Not to seem other thing,

Than what ye are aright;
Never to do what may repentance bring.

“Not to be blown with pride,

Nor moved at glory's breath,
Which shadow-like on wings of time doth glide,

So malice to disarm,

And conquer hasty wrath,
As to do good to those that work you harm.

“ To hatch no base desires,

Or gold, or land to gain,
Well pleased with that which virtue fair acquires ;
To have the wit and will,

Consorting in one strain,
Than what is good, to have no higher skill.

“Never on neighbor's goods, With cockatrice's

eye,
To look, nor make another's heaven your hell ;
Nor to be beauty's thrall,

All fruitless love to fly,
Yet loving still, a love transcendent all.

“ A love, which while it burns

The soul with fairest beams,
To that increated sun, the soul, it turns,
And makes such beauty prove,

That, if sense saw her gleams,
All lookers on would pine and die for love.

“ Who such a life doth live,

You happy e'en may call,
Ere ruthless death a wished end may give,
And after then when given,

More happy by his fall,
For human's earth, enjoying angel's heaven.

“ Swift is

your

mortal race,
And glassy is the field ;
Vast are desires not limited by grace:
Life a weak taper is ;

Then while it light doth yield,
Leave flying joys, embrace this lasting bliss.”

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