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7. Still panting o'er a crowd to reign,

More joy it gives to woman's breast,
To make ten frigid coxcombs vain,
Than one true, manly lover blest.


8. Bright as the sun her eyes the gazers
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.

9. There's danger in the dazzling eye, That woos thee with its witching smile; Another, when thou art not by,

Those beaming looks would fain beguile.

10. But why, O, why on all thus squander
The treasures one alone can prize?
Why let the looks at random wander,
Which beam from those deluding eyes?


1. A great man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state.

2. But where to find the happiest spot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The shuddering tenant of the Frigid Zone
Proudly proclaims that happiest spot his own;
The naked negro, panting on the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine ;—
Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam,
His first, best country ever is his own.

3. Whither where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar land in snow.







GOLDSMITH'S Traveller.

GOLDSMITH'S Traveller.



4. Gay sprightly land of mirth and social joy! GOLDSMITH'S Traveller.

5. The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so beautiful and fair,
Nor breathes the fragrance of a purer air;
In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole.

6. Then said the mother to her son,
And pointed to his shield;-
"Come with it, when the battle's done,
Or on it, from the field."

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7. Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said—
This is my own-my native land!


SCOTT's Last Minstrel. 8. Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious and free, First flower of the earth, and first of the sea, gem I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, But oh! could I love thee more deeply than now?


9. Carolina, Carolina! Heaven's blessings attend her! While we live we will cherish, and love, and defend her. Tho' the scorner may sneer at, and witlings defame her, Our hearts swell with gladness whenever we name her! JUDGE GASTON. 10. Let Spain boast the treasures that grow in her mines; Let Gallia rejoice in her olives and vines; In bright sparkling jewels let India prevail, With her odours Arabia perfume every gale: 'Tis Columbia alone that can boast of the soil Where the fair fruits of virtue and liberty smile.



11. Our bosoms with rapture beat high at thy name,

Thy health is our transport-our triumph thy fame;
Like our sires, with our swords we 'll support thy renown;
What they bought with their blood we 'll defend with our own.

12. On, on to the just and glorious strife,

With your swords your freedom shielding;
Nay, resign, if it must be so, even life,
But die at least, unyielding!

13. Sweet clime of my kindred, blest land of my birth!
The fairest, the dearest, the brightest on earth!
Where'er I may roam-howe'er blest I may be,
My spirit instinctively turns unto thee!

14. Oh heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!
Is there no arm on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high,
And swear with her to live-with her to die!
CAMPBELL'S Pleasures of Hope.

15. Hope for a season bade the world farewell, And freedom shriek'd, as Kosciusko fell!



CAMPBELL'S Pleasures of Hope.

They never fail who die

In a great cause: the block may
soak their gore,
Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs
Be strung to city gates or castle walls;-

But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
Which overspread all others, and conduct

The world at last to freedom.

BYRON'S Marino Faliero.



17. Snatch from the ashes of your sires
The embers of their former fires,
And he, who in the strife expires,
Will add to theirs a name of fear,
That tyranny will quake to hear!


18. The Niobe of Nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago.

BYRON'S Giaour.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

-While the tree

Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf,
Even for thy tomb a garland let it be.

BYRON'S Childe Harold. 20. Yes, honour decks the turf that wraps their clay. BYRON'S Childe Harold.

21. Who, all unbrib'd, on freedom's ramparts stand, Faithful and true, bright wardens of the land.


22. England! with all thy faults, I love thee still.

24. And they who for their country die,
Shall fill an honour'd grave;
For glory lights the soldier's tomb,
And beauty weeps the brave.


23. When a patriot falls, must he fall in the battle,

Where the cannon's loud roar is his only death-rattle ?
There's a warfare where none but the morally brave
Stand nobly and firmly, their country to save.
'Tis the war of opinion, where few can be found,
On the mountain of principle, guarding the ground,
With vigilant eyes ever watching the foes

Who are prowling around them, and aiming their blows.



25. They love their land because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his Majesty.

26. Strike-till the last arm'd foe expires;
Strike for your altars and your fires;
Strike for the green graves of your
God, and your native land!



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1, Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried,
What hell it is in suing long to bide;

To lose good days, that might be better spent,
To waste long nights in pensive discontent;
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;
To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow ;-
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone ;—
Unhappy wight, born to disastrous end,
That doth his life in so long tendance spend.
SPENSER'S Mother Hubbard's Tale.

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