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For sure, such courage length of life denies ;
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single beroes strove in vain ;
Now hosts oppose thee--and thou must be slain.
Oh, grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of heaven-au early tomb!
So shall my days in one sad tenor run,
And end with sorrows as they first begun.
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share;
Oh! prove a husband's, and a parent's care.
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,
Where yon wild figtree joins the walls of Troy :
Tbrice our bold foes the fierce aitack have given;
Or led by hopes, or ciictated from leven.
Let others in the field their arms employ;
But stay my Hector here, and guard l.is Troy."

The chief replied "That post shall be my care ;
Nor that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the sons of Troy, in urms renown'd,
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,
Attaint the lustre of my former dame,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame!
My early youth was bred to warlike pains ;
My soul impels me to the martial plains.
Still foremost let me stand to guard the throne,
To save my father's honors and my own.
Yet, come it will! the day decreed by fates!
(How my heart trembles, while my tongue relates :)
'T'he day when thou, imperial Troy, must bend,
Must see thy warriors fall, thy glories end,
And yet, no dire presage so wounds my mird,
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,
Not Priam's hoary hairs, defil'd with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore,
As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread !
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led,
In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes, of which to large a part was thine.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry~"Behold the mighty Hector's wife!".
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,
Embitters all thy woes by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,
A thousand griefs shall waken at the name !
May I be cold before that dreadful day,
Press'd with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapp'd in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sighi, nor see thee weep."

Thus having spoke, thi’ illustrious chief of Troy

And say,

Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung, crying, to the nurse's breast,
Scard with the dazzling belm and rodding crest.
With secret pleasure, each fond parent smil'd,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child :
The glittring terrors from his brows unbound,
And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kiss'd the child ; and, lifting high in air,
Thus to the gods preferr'd a parent's prayer.

"Oh thou, whose glory fills th' etherial throne !
And all ye deathless powers ! protect my son!
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown;
Against his country's foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age.
So when triumphant from successful toils,
Of heroes slain, he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deserv'd acclaim,

" This chief transcends his father's fame ;**
While pleas'd amidst the general shouts of Troy,
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy."
He spoke: and fondly gazing on her charms,
Restor d the pleasing burden to her arms.
Soft on her fragrant breast the bube she laid,
Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd :
The troubled pleasure, soon chastis'd with fear,
She mingled with a smile, a tender tear.
The sosten'd chief with kind compassion view'd;
And dried the falling drops; and ilus pursued-

“ Andromache ! my coul's far better part!
Why with untimely sorrow heaves thy heart !
No hostile hand can antedate my doorri,
Till fate condemn me to the silent tomb:
Fix'd is the term of all the race of carth;
And such the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then resist, no flight cau savc;
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more-but hasten to thy task at home;
There guide the spindle and direct the loom.
Me, glory summons to the martial scene ;
The field of comhat is the sphere for men:
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first iu danger, as the first in fame.”

Thus having said, th' undaunted chief resumes,
His to very helmet, black with shading plumes.
His princese parts with a prophetic sigh,
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her

eye,
That stream'd aiesaiy look ; then moving slow,
Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her woe.
There, while her tears deplor'd the godlike man,

Through all her train the soft infection ran :
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed,
And mown'd the living Hector as the dead.
VI.–Facetious History of John Gilpin.- COWPER.

OHN GILPIN was a citizen
JOH

Of credit and renown;
A train band captain eke was he,

Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear

Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we

No holiday have seen.
To-morrow is our wedding day,

And we shall then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,

All in a chaise and pair.
My sister and my sister's child,

Myself and children three,
Will fill the chaise, so you must ride.

On horseback after we."
He soon replied—I do admire

Of woman kind but one ;
And you are she, my dearest dear,

Therefore it shall be done,
I am a linen draper bold,

As all the world doth know;
And my good friend, Tom Ca:lender,

Will lend his horse to go.”
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin-" That's well said;

And, for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish'd with our own,

Which is both bright and clear.”
John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife:

O'erjoy'd was he to find,
That, though on pleasure she was bent,

She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought,

But yet was not allow'd
o drive up to the door, lest all

Should say that she was proud.
So threc doors off the chaise was stay'd,

Where they did all get in ;
Six precious souls; and all agog,
To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,

Were never folks so glad ; Thestones did rattle underneath,

As is Cheapside were mad. John Gilpin at his horse's side,

Seiz'd fast the flowing mane,
And up he got in haste to ride,

But soon came down again :
For saddletree scarce reach'd had he,

His journey to begin,
When turning round his head he saw,

Three customers come in.
So down he came, for loss of time,

Although it griev'd him sore,
Vet loss of pence, full well he knew,

Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers

Were suited to their mind,
When Betty scream'd into his ears-

“The wine is left behind." "Good lack;" quoth he, "yet bring it me,

My leathern belt likewise,
D which I wear my trusty sword,

When I do exercise."
Now Mrs. Gilpin, careful soul,

Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she lov'd,

And keep it safe and sound. Each bottle had a curling ear,

Through which the belt he drew; He hung a bottle on each side,

To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be

Equipp'd from top to toe,
His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat,

He manfully did throw.
Now see him mounted once again,

Upon his nimble steed;
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,

With caution and good heed.
But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath

his well shod feet, The sporting beast began to trot,

Which gail'd hing in his seat.

So, “fair and softly,” John he cried;

But John he cried in vain ;
The trot became a gallop soov ;

In spite of curb and rein.
So stooping down, as needs he must,

Who cannot sit upright;
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,

And eke with all his might.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought

Away went hat and wig ;
He little dreamt, when he set out

Of running such a rig.
His horse, who never had before

Been handled in this kind,
Affrighted fled ; and as he few,

Left all the world behind.
The wind did blow, the cloak did dy,

Like streamer long and gay;
TYil loop and button failing both,

Atlast it flew away.
Then might all people well discera

The bottles he had slung;
A bottle swinging at each side,

As hath been said or sung.
The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,

Up flew the windows all ;
And every soul crid out, “ Well done !"

As loud as they coald bawl.
Away went Gilpin—who but he !

His fame soon spread around 56 He carries weight; he rides a race!

'Tis for a thousand pound!" And still, as fast as he drew near,

'Twas wonderful to view, How in a trice the turnpike men

Their gates wide open threw.
And now as he went howing down

His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back,

Were sbatter'd at a blow.
Dawn ran the wine into the road,

Most piteous to be seen,
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke

As they had basted been,

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