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Still panning 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.

Monxe. Bright as the sun her


gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.

PoPE 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.

Mrs. OSGOOD 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?



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

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.

GOLDSMITH's Traveller. Whither where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar land in snow.

GOLDSMITH's Traveller. 150


Gay sprightıy land of mirth and social joy!

GOLDSMITH's Traveller.
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shorns,
Views not a realm so beautiful and fair,
Nor breathes the fragrance of a purer air ;

every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole.

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.”

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

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!

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.



Our bosoms with rapture beat high at thy name,
Thy health is our transport-our triumph thy fame;
Like our sires, with cur swords we'll support thy renown;
W’hat they bought with their blood we'll defend with our ou n

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 !

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!

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.
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 Fuliera



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 !

BYRON'S Giaour.
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 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.
Yes, honour decks the turf that wraps their clay.

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

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

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.

Mrs. Dana,
And they who for their country die,

Shall fill an honour'd grave;
For glory lights the soldier's tomb,
And beauty weeps che brave.


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.

Strike—till the last arm'd foe expires ;
Strike for

altars and

your fires; Strike for the green graves


your sires, God, and your native land!

Fitz-GREEN HALLECK Yes, it is dear-fair Southern clime

Of genial suns and hearts sincere; And we will cherish it till Time Shall end, at last, our life's career.





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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