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All soundly on their cables slept ev'n till the night
And when the lady of the light, the rosy-finger'd
Rose from the hills, all fresh arose and to the
camp retired, While Phæbus with a foreright wind their bark
Restor's Speech on the Dream of Agamemnon. “ Princes and councillors of Greece, if any
should relate This vision but the king himself, it might be held
a tale, And move the rather our retreat : but since our
general Affirms he saw it, hold it true; and all our best
means make To arm our army.” This speech used he first the
council brake. The other sceptre-bearing states arose too and
obey'd The people's victor. Being abroad, the earth was
overlaid With flockers to them that came forth ; as when
of frequent bees, Swarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the
THE COMMONWEALTH OF BEES.
And utter now and then an awful voice,
But had a blessing in its darkest frown,
Threat'ning at once and nourishing the plant.
We lov’d, but not enough, the gentle hand
That reared us. At a thoughtless age, allured
By every gilded folly, we renounc'd
His shelt'ring side, and wistfully forewent
That converse which we now in vain regret.
How gladly would the man recall to life
The boy's neglected sire! A mother too,
The softer friend, perhaps more gladly still,
Might he demand them at the gates of death.
Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed
The playful humour; he could now endure,
(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears),
And feel a parent's presence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure's worth
Till time has stol'n away the slighted good,
Is cause of half the poverty we feel,
And makes the world the wilderness it is.
The few that pray at all pray oft amiss,
And seeking grace ť improve the prize they hold,
Would urge a wiser suit than asking more.
THE COMMONWEALTH OF BEES.
So work the honey-bees : Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach The art of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king, and officers of sorts,-
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home;
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad;
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ;
Which pillage they with merry march bring home
To the tent royal of their emperor;
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold ;
The civil citizens kneading up the honey;
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ;
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o’er to executors pale
The lazy yawning drone.
Though many suns have risen and set
Since thou, blithe May, wert born,
And bards who hail'd thee may forget
Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn;
There are who to a birthday strain
Confine not harp and voice,
But evermore throughout thy reign
Are grateful, and rejoice.
Delicious odours; music sweet,
Too sweet to pass away ;
In the far isles of the main ;
In the desert's lone domain ;
In the savage mountain-glen,
Mid the tribes of swarthy men ;
Wheresoe'er a foot hath
Wheresoe'er the sun hath shone
On a league of peopled ground,
Little children may be found !
Blessings on them! they in me
Move a kind of sympathy
With their wishes, hopes, and fears
With their laughter and their tears
With their wonder, so intense,
And their small experience !
Little children, not alone
On the wide earth are ye known;
Mid its labours, and its cares,
Mid its sufferings, and its snares.
Free from sorrow, free from strife,
In the world of love and life,
Where no sinful thing hath trod,
In the presence of your God,
Spotless, blameless, glorified,
Little children, ye
THE VILLAGE BELLS.
THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds,
And, as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleased
With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village-bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet; now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on!
opens all the cells
Where mem'ry slept ! Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And, with it, all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes,
That, in a few short moments, I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
Îhe winding of my way through many years.
Short as in retrospect the journey seems,
It seem'd not always short : the rugged path,
And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn,
Mov'd many a sigh at its disheartening length :
Yet feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all,
How readily we wish time spent revok’d,
That we may try the ground again, where once
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive)
We miss’d that happiness we might have found !
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend,
A father, whose authority, in shew
When most severe, and must'ring all its force,
Was but the graver countenance of love :
Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lour,