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Who handles things divine; and all beside,
Though learn'd with labour, and though much admir'd
By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed,
To me is odious.

Cowper.

7.-Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell.
CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman-
Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me must more be heard; say then I taught thee !
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in :
A sure, and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me:
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then
(The image of his Maker) hope to win by't?
Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the King;
And, pr'ythee, lead me in

There take an inventory of all I have;

To the last penny, 'tis the king's. My robe,
And my integrity to Heav'n, is all

I dare now call my own.

O Cromwell! Cromwell!

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies!

8.-Character of Teribazus.

AMID the van of Persia was a youth
Nam'd Teribazus, not for golden stores,

Shakespeare.

Not for wide pastures travers'd o'er with herds,
With bleating thousands, or with bounding steeds,
Nor yet for power, nor splendid honours, fam'd.
Rich was his mind in every art divine,
And thro' the paths of science had he walk'd
The votary of wisdom. In the years
When tender down invests the ruddy cheek,
He with the Magi turn'd the hallow'd page
Of Zoroaster; then his tow'ring soul

High on the plumes of contemplation soar'd,
And from the lofty Babylonian fane

With learn'd Chaldæans trac'd the mystic sphere;
There number'd o'er the vivid fires, that gleam
Upon the dusky bosom of the night.

Nor on the sands of Ganges were unheard
The Indian sages from sequester'd bowers,
While, as attention wander'd, they disclos'd
The powers of nature; whether in the woods,
The fruitful glebe or flower, or healing plant,
The limpid waters, or the ambient air,
Or in the purer element of fire.

The fertile plains where great Sesostris reign'd,
Mysterious Egypt, next the youth survey'd,
From Elephantis, where impetuous Nile
Precipitates his waters to the sea,

Which far below receives the sevenfold stream.
Thence o'er th' Ionic coast he stray'd, nor pass'd
Miletus by, which once enraptur'd heard
The tongue of Thales, nor Priene's walls,
Where wisdom dwelt with Bias, nor the seat
Of Pittacus along the Lesbian shore.
Here too melodious numbers charm'd his ears,
Which flow'd from Orpheus, and Musæus old,
And thee, O father of immortal verse,
Mæonides, whose strains through every age
Time with his own eternal lip shall sing.
Back to his native Susa then he turn'd
His wand'ring steps.

Glover's Leonidas

9.-A Seatonian Prize Poem, on the Day of Judgment.
THY Justice, heavenly King! and that great day,
When Virtue, long abandon'd and forlorn,
Shall raise her pensive head; and Vice, that erst
Rang'd unreprov'd and free, shall sink appall'd;
I sing advent'rous.-But what eye can pierce
The vast immeasurable realms of space,
O'er which Messiah drives his flaming car,
To that bright region, where enthron'd he sits
First-born of heaven, to judge assembled worlds,
Cloth'd in celestial radiance! Can the Muse,
Her feeble wing all damp with earthly dew,
Soar to that bright empyreal, where around
Myriads of angels, God's perpetual choir,
Hymn hallelujahs, and in concert loud
Chant songs of triumph to their Maker's praise?—
On that great day the solemn trump shall sound,
(That trump which once in heav'n, on man's revolt,
Convok'd th' astonish'd seraphs) at whose voice
Th' unpeopled graves shall pour forth all their dead.
Then shall th' assembled nations of the earth
From ev'ry quarter at the judgment-seat
Unite; Egyptians, Babylonians, Greeks,
Parthians; and they who dwell on Tyber's banks,
Names fam'd of old: or who of later

age,
Chinese and Russian, Mexican and Turk,
Tenant the wide terrene; and they who pitch
Their tents on Niger's banks; or, where the sun
Pours on Golconda's spires his early light,
Drink Ganges' sacred stream. At once shall rise,
Whom distant ages to each other's sight
Had long denied: before the throne shall kneel
Some great Progenitor, while at his side
Stand his descendants through a thousand lines.
Whate'er their nation, and whate'er their rank,
Heroes and patriarchs, slaves and sceptred kings,
With equal eye the God of All shall see,

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And judge with equal love. Where now the works Of art, the toil of ages?-Where are now 、

Th' imperial cities, sepulchres and domes,
Trophies and pillars? Where is Egypt's boast,
Those lofty pyramids, which high in air
Rear'd their aspiring heads, to distant times
Of Memphian pride a lasting monument?-
Tell me where Athens rais'd her towers ?-Where
Thebes

Open'd her hundred portals?-Tell me where
Stood sea-girt Albion?-Where imperial Rome,
Propt by seven hills, sat like a sceptred queen,
And awed the tributary world to peace?-
Shew me the rampart which o'er many a hill,
Through many a valley, stretch'd its wide extent,
Rais'd by that mighty monarch to repel
The roving Tartar, when with insult rude
'Gainst Pekin's towers he bent th' unerring bow,
But what is mimic art? Even Nature's works,
Seas, meadows, pastures, the meand'ring streams,
And everlasting hills, shall be no more.

No more shall Teneriffe, cloud-piercing height!
O'erhang th' Atlantic surge; nor that fam'd cliff,
Through which the Persian steer'd with many a sail,
Throw to the Lemnian isle its evening shade
O'er half the wide gaan.-Where are now
The Alps that confin'd with unnumber'd realms,
And from the Black Sea to the Ocean stream
Stretch'd their extended arms?-Where's Ararat,
That hill on which the faithful patriarch's ark,
Which seven long months had voyag'd o'er its top,
First rested, when the earth with all her sons,
As now by streaming cataracts of fire,
Was whelm'd by mighty waters?—All at once
Are vanish'd and dissolv'd; no trace remains,
No mark of vain distinction: Heaven itself,
That azure vault, with all those radiant orbs,
Sinks in the universal ruin lost.

No more shall planets round their central sun
Move in harmonious dance; no more the moon
Hang out her silver lamp; and those fix'd stars,
Spangling the golden canopy of night,
Which oft the Tuscan with his optic glass

Call'd from their wond'rous height, to read their names

And magnitude, some winged minister

Shall quench; and (surest sign that all on earth
Is lost) shall rend from heaven the mystic bow.
Such is that awful, that tremendous day,
Whose coming who shall tell? For as a thief
Unheard, unseen, it steals with silent pace
Through night's dark_gloom.-

"Power Supreme!

"O everlasting King! to thee I kneel, "To thee I lift my voice. With fervent heat "Melt, all ye elements! and thou, high heaven, "Shrink like a shrivel'd scroll! But think, O Lord, "Think on the best, the noblest of thy works; "Think on thine own bright image! Think on him "Who died to save us from thy righteous wrath; "And 'midst the wreck of worlds remember man !" Dr Glynn.

10.-On the Importance of Time to Man. NIGHT, sable goddess! from her ebon thrōne, In rayless' majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world`. Silence', how dead'! and darkness', how profound` ! Nor eye', nor listening ear, an object finds; Creation sleeps'. 'Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still', and nature made a pause', An awful' pause! prophetic of her end'.

The bell strikes one'. We take no note' of time,
But from its loss'. To give it then a tongue',
Is wise' in man. As if an angel' spoke,

I feel the solemn sound'. If heard aright',
It is the knell of my departed hours'.

Where are they? with the years beyond the flood'.
It is the signal' that demands despatch':
How much is to be done! my hopes and fears
Start up alarm'd', and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-On what'? a fathomless abyss';
A dread eternity'. How surely mine'!
And can eternity belong to me',

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour'?

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