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Thou’rt standing on thy 'egs have anni.

Revisiting the climpses of the moon.'
Not like their ghosts or jjsem hodiert papaturpe.
But with thy bones and pahind nhe 2.



Tell us,-for doubtless hon sao maisto

To whom we should 320 min
Was Cheops or Cephrener pr. the

Of either pyramid hat
Is Pompey's pillar zils 1 -cart
Had Thebes a hundres in
Perchance that rer hansement
Has hob-snobbe i Sant to
op'd a halfness Homera batea
Fa thiness to a Deus


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Since first thy form was in this box extended,
We have, above ground, seen some strange

mutations ;
The Roman empire has begun and ended,

New worlds have risen, we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. If the tomb's secrets may not be confess’d,

The nature of thy private life unfold; A heart has throbb’d beneath that leathern breast,

And tears adown that dusky cheek have rollid : Have children climb'd those knees, and kiss'd

that face? What was thy name and station, age and race ? Statue of flesh! immortal of the dead !

Imperishable type of evanescence ! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed,

And standest undecay'd within our presence, Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, When the last trump shall thrill thee with its




VERSE, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where hope clung feeding, like a bee, -
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With nature, hope, and poesy,



When I was young!
When I was young ?-Ah, woful when!
Ah! for the change 'twixt now and then !
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O’er airy cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flash'd along;
Like those trim skiffs unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely ; love is flower-like ;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
Oh, the joys that came down shower-like
Of friendship, love, and liberty,

Ere I was old!
Ere I was old ?—Ah, woful ere !
Which tells me, youth's no longer here !
O youth ! for years so many and sweet
'Tis known that thou and I were one ;
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be, that thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolld :-
And thou wert aye a masker bold.
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone ?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this alter'd size :

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But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes !
Life is but thought; so think I will,
That youth and I are housemates still.



But who the melodies of morn can tell ?
The wild brook babbling down the mountain's

side ;

The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell ;
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried
In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ;

The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown'd with her. pail the tripping milkmaid

sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and

hark ! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon

rings; Through rustling corn the hare astonishid

springs ; Slow tells the village-clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ;



Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour.



Hail to the crown by freedom shap'd, to gird
An English sovereign's brow! and to the throne
Whereon he sits ! whose deep foundations lie
In veneration and the people's love;
Whose steps are equity, whose seat is law.

Hail to the state of England! And conjoin
With this a salutation as devout
Made to the spiritual fabric of her Church ;
Founded in truth, by blood of martyrdom
Cemented, by the hands of wisdom rear'd
In beauty of holiness, with order'd pomp,
Decent and unreprov'd. The voice that greets
The majesty of both shall pray for both,
That, mutually protected and sustain'd,
They may endure long as the sea surrounds
This favour'd land, or sunshine warms her soil.

And oh, ye swelling hills and spacious plains, Besprent from shore to shore with steeple-towers, And spires whose "silent finger points to heaven;" Nor wanting, at wide intervals, the bulk Of ancient minster, lifted above the cloud Of the dense air which town or city breeds, To intercept the sun's glad beams! may ne'er That true succession fail of English hearts,

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