Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,

The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.

Along the cool sequestered vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E'en in our ashes, live their wonted fires.*

THE EPITAPH.

A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,

Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.

CHAUCER. Reve's Prologue.

And melancholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear,

He gained from Heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.

The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,

To him are opening paradise.

Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude.

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to impor

tune;

He had not the method of making a fortune.

A favorite has no friend.

On his own Character.

On the Death of a Favorite Cat.

Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages that lead to nothing.

A Long Story.

Now as the Paradisaical pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.

To Mr. West. 3d Series. Letter iv.

WILLIAM COLLINS. 1720-1756.

How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blessed!

By fairy hands their knell is rung ;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

Ode in 1746.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung.

Ibid.

The Passions. Line 1.

Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. Ibid. Line 10.

'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild.

Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell; 'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell. Eclogue 1. Line 5,

Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part;
Nature in him was almost lost in Art.

To Sir Thomas Hammer on his Edition of Shakspeare.

In yonder grave a Druid lies.

Ode on the Death of Thomson.

NATHANIEL COTTON. 1721-1788.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;

And they are fools who roam:

The world has nothing to bestow;

From our own selves our joys must flow,

And that dear hut,

—

our home.

The Fireside. St. 3.

Thus hand in hand through life we 'll go ;

Its checkered paths of joy and woe
With cautious steps we 'll tread.

Ibid. St. 13.

JOHN HOME. 1722-1808.

In the first days

Of my distracting grief, I found myself
As women wish to be who love their lords.

Douglas. Act i. Sc. 1.

Ibid. Act ii. Sc. 1.

My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills

My father fed his flocks.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1728-1774.

THE TRAVELLER.

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.

Line 1.

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

And learn the luxury of doing good.*

Line 7.

Line 22.

Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view.

Line 26.

Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,
His first, best country ever is at home.

Line 77.

By sports like these are all their cares beguiled; The sports of children satisfy the child. Line 153.

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

Line 172.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

Line 217.

*For all their luxury was doing good.

He tried the luxury of doing good.

GARTH. Claremont, Line 148.

CRABBE. Tales of the Hall, Book iii.