And the hour when thy glories were ended'
But left me that token of thee':

And ne'era shall its soft tones be blended'
With the voice of the spoiler.. by me'.

SECTION XII.

Cardinal Wolsey's Soliloquy on Ambition.-SHAKSPEARE.

FAREWELL', a long farewell', to all my greatness"!
This is the state of man':-to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope'; to-morrow', blossoms',
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him':c
The third day', comes a frost', a killing frost';
And',-when he thinks', good', easy man', full surely
His greatness is a rîpening',-nips his root',
And then he falls', as I do'. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders',
These many summers in a sea of glory';
But far beyond my depth'. My high-blown pride
At length broke under me'; and now has left me',
Weary', and old with service', to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must forever hide me'.
Vain pomp and glory of this world', I hate you':
I feel my heart new opened'. O', how wretched
Is that pôôr man that hangs on princes' favours'!
There are', betwixt that smile he would aspire to',
That sweet aspect of princes and his ruin',
More pangs and fears than wars or women have':
And when he falls', he falls', like Lucifer',
Never to hope again'.e

SECTION XIII.

Cardinal Wolsey's Farewell Address to Cromwell.
SHAKSPEARE.

Nåre. •A-gên'

CROMWELL', I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries'; but thou hast forced me',
Out of thy honest truth', to play the woman'.

Let's dry our eyes': and', thus far', hear me', Cromwell':

Put-u in bùll.

Him-not, upon im.

Length-not, lenth.

And',-when I am forgotten', as I shall be',

And sleep in dull', cold marble', where no mention
Of me more must be heard of',-say', I taught thee';
Say', Wolsey', that once trod the ways of glory',
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour',
Found thee a way', out of his wreck', to rise in';
A sure and safe one', though thy master'.. missed it'.
Mark but my fall', and that that ruined me'.
Cromwell', I charge thee', fling away ambition'.
By that sin fell the angels'. How can man', then',
The image of his Maker', hope to win by it'?
Love thyself last': cherish those hearts that hate thee'.
Corruption wins not more than honesty'!

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace',

To silence envious tongues'. Be just', and fear not!!

Let all the ends thou aim'st at', be thy country's',

Thy God's', and truth's': then', if thou fallest', O, Cromwell',
Thou fallest a blessed martyr'.

By torch and trumpet'.. fast arrayed',
Each horsemane drew his battle-blade',
And furious every charger neighed'
To join the dreadful revelry'.

S'lense-not, si'lunce.

•Horse'mán-not, hos'mun.

Fall'lêst. Lin'den-not, Lin'dun. dE'sèr

Then shook the hills with thunder riven',
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven',
And', louder than the bolts of heaven',
Far flashed the red artillery'.

And redder yet those fires shall glow',
On Linden'sa hills of blood-stained snow',
And darker yet shall be the flow'
Of Iser', rolling rapidly'.

'Tis morn':... but scarce yon lurid sun'
Can pierce the war-clouds' rolling dun',
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun'

Shout'... in their sulph'rous canopy'.

The combat deepens'.-ON', ye brave',
Who rush to GLORY', or'... the grave"!
WAVE', Mûnich', all thy banners wâve!!
And charge with all thy chivalry"!

Ah! few shall pârt', where many meet'!
The snow'.. shall be their winding-sheet',
And every turf beneath their feet'
Shall be'. ... a soldier's sepulchre'.

SECTION XV.

The Burial of Sir John Moore.-WOLFE.

Not a drum was heard', nor a funeral note',
As his corsed o'er the rampart we hurried',
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot',
O'er the grave where our hero was buried'.

We buried him darkly', at dead of night',
The sod with our bayonetse turning',
By the trembling moon-beam's misty light',
And our lantern dimly burning'.

No useless coffinf enclosed his breast',

Nor in sheet', nor in shroud', we bound him';
But he lay'... like a warriour taking his rest',
With his martial cloak around him'.

aLin'den—not, Lin'dun. bE'sèr. Kům'bát. Körse. Bå'yûn'êts. 'Kof' fin

Few and short were the prayers we said',

We spoke not a word of sorrow';

But steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead',
And bitterly thought'.. of the morrow'.

We thought', as we hollowed his narrow bed',
And smoothed down his lowly pillow',

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head',
And we'... far away o'er the billow'.

Lightly they'll speak of the spirit that's gone',
And o'er his cold ashes'.. upbraid him';

But little he'll reck', if they let him sleep on'
In the grave where his comradesa have laid him'.

Not the half of our heavy task was done',
When the bell told the hour for retiring"
And we knew', by the distant random gun
That the foe was then sullenly firing'.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down',

From the field of his fame'.. fresh and gory':
We carved not a line', we raised not a stone';
But left him alone'.. with his glory'.

SECTION XVI.

Messiah.-POPE.

A Sacred Eclogue.

YE nymphs of Solyma'!b begin the song':
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong'.
The mossy fountains', and the sylvan shades',
The dreams of Pindus', and the Aonian maids',
Delight no more'.-O, Thou my voice inspire'
Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire"!
Rapt into future times', the bard begun':
A virgin shall conceive', a VIRGIN bear a Son':
From Jesse's root', behold a branch arise',
Whose sacred flower with fragrances fills the skies';
The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move',

And on its top descends the mystick dove'.
Ye heavens"! from high the dewy nectar pour',d
And', in soft silence', shed the kindly shower!

Kům rådes.

out of it, pore.

Sol'y-ma, Jerusalem. Frå'grânse. aPòùr, in rhyme ;

The sick and weak'.. the healing plant shall aid',
From storms a shelter', and from heat a shade'.
All crimes shall cease', and ancient frauds shall fail';
Returning Justice'.. lift aloft her scale';

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend',
And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend'.
Swift fly the years', and rise', the expected morn"!
Oh', spring to light', auspicious Babe', be BORN!
See', Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring',
With all the incense of the breathing spring':
See lofty Lebanon his head advance';

See nodding forests on the mountains dance':
See spicy clouds from lowly Sarona rise';

And Carmel's flowery top perfume the skies"!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers';
Prepare the WAY"! A GOD', a GOD appears'!
A GOD', a GOD', the vocal hills reply';
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity'.
Lo', earth receives him from the bending skies"!
Sink down', ye mountains'; and', ye valleys', rise"!
With heads declined', ye cedars', homageb pay';
Be smooth', ye rocks'; ye rapid floods', give way'.
The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold':
Hear him', ye deaf'; and all ye blind', behold"!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray',
And on the sightless eye-ball pourd the day':
"Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear',
And bid new musick charm the unfolding ear':
The dumb shall sing', the lame his crutch forego',
And leap', exulting', like the bounding roe'.
No sîgh', no mûrmur', the wide world shall hear';
From every face he wipes off every tear'.
In adamantine chains shall death be bound',
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound'.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care',
Seeks freshest pasture', and the purest air';
Explores the lost', the wandering', sheep directs',
By day o'ersees them', and by night protects';
The tender lambs he raises in his arms',
Feeds from his hand', and in his bosom warms':
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage',
The promised father of the future age'.

Sarôn. Hômaje. Def. dPðre.