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And now a gallant tomb they raise,

With costly sculpture deck'd ;
And marble, storied with his praise,

Doth Gelert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman pass,

Or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass

Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
And here he hung his horn and spear;

And oft, as evening fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear

Poor Gelert's dying yell.



On his morning rounds the master
Goes to learn how all things fare ;
Searches pasture after pasture,
Sheep and cattle eyes with care ;
And for silence and for talk
He hath comrades in his walk;
Four dogs, each pair of different breed,
Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed.
See, a hare before them started :
Off they fly in earnest chase ;
Every dog is eager-hearted,
All the four are in the race ;



And the hare whom they pursue
Hath an instinct what to do ;
Her hope is near: no turn she makes ;
But like an arrow to the river takes.
Deep the river was, and crusted
Thinly by a one night's frost;
But the nimble hare bath trusted
To the ice, and safely crost;
She hath crost, and without heed
All are following at full speed,
When, lo, the ice, so thinly spread,
Breaks—and the greyhound, Dart, is overhead!
Better fate have Prince and Swallow
See them cleaving to the sport!
Music hath no heart to follow,
Little Music she stops short.
She hath neither wish nor heart;
Hers is now another part;
A loving creature she and brave,
And fondly strives her struggling friend to save.
From the brink her paws she stretches,
Very hands as you would say !
And afflicting moans she fetches,
As she breaks the ice away.
For herself she hath no fears,-
Him alone she sees and hears,-
Makes efforts and complainings, nor gives o’er
Until her fellow sank and re-appeared no more.


TO THE BRAMBLE-FLOWER. Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows,

Wild bramble of the brake ! So put thou forth thy small white rose,

I love it for his sake.

Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow

O'er all the fragrant bowers,
Thou need'st not be ashamed to show

Thy satin-threaded flowers :
For dull the eye, the heart is dull,

That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful,

Thy tender blossoms are. How delicate thy gauzy frill!

How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice, when woods are still,

And thou sing'st hymns to them !
While silent showers are falling slow,

And, 'mid the general hush,
A sweet air lifts the little bough,

Lone whispering through the bush !

The primrose to the grave is gone ;

The hawthorn-flower is dead; The violet by the moss'd grey stone

Hath laid her weary head.

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But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring,

In all their beauteous power,
The fresh green days of life's fair spring

And boyhood’s blossomy hour.
Scorn'd bramble of the brake! once more

Thou bid'st me be a boy,
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er

In freedom and in joy.



ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble Eng

land's praise ; I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in

ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore,

in vain, The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of

Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer

day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to

Plymouth Bay; Her crew hath seen Castille's black fleet, beyond

Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many

a mile.

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At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's espe

cial grace ;

And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her

close in chase. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along

the wall; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's

lofty hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along

the coast; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland

many a post. With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old

sheriff comes ; Behind him march the halberdiers, before him

sound the drums ; His yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear

an ample space, For there behoves him to set up the standard of

her Grace. And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance

the bells, As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon

swells. Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient

crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay

lilies down. So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that

famed Picard field, Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's


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