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And he and his eight hundred

Shall plough the wave no more.

SONG ON PEACE°

AIR-“MY FOND SHEPHERDS OF LATE"

No longer I follow a sound;

No longer a dream I pursue; O Happiness! not to be found,

Unattainable treasure, adieu !

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I have sought thee in splendor and dress,

In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee, and seemed to possess,

But have proved thee a vision at last.

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An humble ambition and hope

The voice of true Wisdom inspires; 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope,

And the summit of all our desires.

Peace may be the lot of the mind

That seeks in it meekness and love; But rapture and bliss are confined

To the glorified spirits above.

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ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE

Suns that set, átryd moons that wane,
Rise, and are restored again;

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Stars that orient day subdues,
Night at her return renews.
Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth
Of the genial womb of earth,
Suffer bụt a transient death
From the winter's cruel breath.
Zephyr speaks; serener skies
Warm the glebe, and they arise.
We, alas! Earth's haughty kings,
We, that promise mighty things,
Losing soon life's happy prime,
Droop, and fade, in little time.
Spring returns, but not our bloom;
Still 'tis winter in the tomb.

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EPITAPH ON JOHNSON

HERE Johnson lies, a sage by all allowed,
Whom to have bred, may well make England proud;
Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught,
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought;
Whose verse may claim, grave, masculine, and

strong,
Superior praise to the mere poet's song;
Who many a noble gift from Heaven possessed,
And faith at last, alone worth all the rest.
O man, immortal by a double prize,
By fame on earth, by glory in the skies !

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THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS°

Two nymphs,o both nearly of an age,

Of numerous charms possessed,
A warm dispute once chanced to wage

Whose temper was the best.

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The worth of each had been complete

Had both alike been mild;
But one, although her smile was sweet,

Frowned oftener than she smiled;

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And in her humor, when she frowned,

Would raise her voice, and roar, And shake with fury to the ground

The garland that she wore.

The other was of gentler cast,

From all such frenzy clear,
Her frowns were seldom known to last,

And never proved severe.

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To poets of renown in song

The nymphs referred the cause,
Who, strange to tell, all judged it wrong,

And gave misplaced applause.

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They gentle called, and kind and soft,

The flippant and the scold,

And though she changed her mood so oft,

That failing left untold.

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No judges, sure, were e'er so mad,

Or so resolved to err,
In short, the charms her sister had

They lavished all on her.

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Then thus the god, whom fondly they

Their great Inspirer call,
Was heard, one genial summer's day,

To reprimand them all.

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“Since thus ye have combined,” he said,

“My favorite nymph to slight, Adorning May, that peevish maid,

With June's undoubted right,

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“ The Minx shall, for your folly's sake,

Still prove herself a shrew,
Shall make your scribbling fingers ache,

And pinch your noses blue.”

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YARDLEY OAK

SURVIVOR sole, and hardly such, of all That once lived here, thy brethren!

- at my birth (Since which I number threescore winters past) A shattered veteran, hollow-trunked perhaps,

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As now, and with excoriate forks deform,
Relics of ages! Could a mind, imbued
With truth from Heaven, created thing adore,
I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee.

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It seems idolatry with some excuse,
When our forefather Druids in their oakso
Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet
Unpurified by an authentic act
Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine,
Loved not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom
Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste
Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled.

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Thou wast a bauble once; a cup and ball, Which babes might play with; and the thievish jay, Seeking her food, with ease might have purloined The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down 20 Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs, And all thine embryo vastness, at a gulp. But Fate thy growth decreed; autumnal rains Beneath thy parent tree mellowed the soil Designed thy cradle; and a skipping deer, With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared The soft receptacle, in which, secure, Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through.

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So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can, Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search

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