WOODWORTH. · - CUNNINGHAM. NAPIER. 537

SAMUEL WOODWORTH. 1785-1842.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view.

The Old Oaken Bucket.

Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

Ibid.

Ibid.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 1785-1842.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While like the eagle free

Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

When looks were fond and words were few.

Ibid.

Poet's Bridal-day Song.

SIR W. F. P. NAPIER. 1785-1860.

Napoleon's troops fought in bright fields, where every helmet caught some gleams of glory; but the British soldier conquered under the cool shade of aristocracy. No honours awaited his daring, no despatch gave his name to the applauses of his countrymen; his life of danger and hardship was uncheered by hope, his death unnoticed.

Peninsular War (1810). Vol. ii. Book xi. Chap. iii

JOHN PIERPONT. 1785-1866.

A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
But executes a freeman's will,

As lightning does the will of God;
And from its force nor doors nor locks
Can shield you, 't is the ballot-box.

A Word from a Petitioner.

From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,
The incense of the heart,1-may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.

With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,

But I loved the great sea more and more.

Touch us gently, Time!2

Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, - as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.

1 See Cotton, page 362.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Touch us gently, Time.

2 See Crabbe, page 445.

LORD BYRON. 1788-1824.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal avail'd on high, '
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.

I only know we loved in vain ;

I only feel farewell! farewell!

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years.

Ibid.

When we Two parted.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 6.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

With just enough of learning to misquote.
As soon

Seek roses in December, ice in June;

Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,

Line 51.

Line 66.

Or any other thing that's false, before

You trust in critics.

Line 75.

Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms.

Line 326.

Oh, Amos Cottle! Phoebus! what a name!

Line 399.

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.1

1 See Waller, pages 219–220.

Line 826.

Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires,
And decorate the verse herself inspires:
This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,
Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 839.

Maid of Athens, ere we part,

Give, oh give me back my heart!

Maid of Athens

Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. stanza 5.

If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.

Stanza 7.

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

Stanza 9.

Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.

Stanza 20.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see
For one who hath no friend, no brother there.

Stanza 40.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.1

1 Medio de fonte leporum

Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat

Stanza 82.

(In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers). LUCRETIUS: iv. 1133.

War, war is still the cry,

66

--

war even to the knife!" 1

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 86.

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

Canto ii. Stanza 2.

Ibid.

Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of

power.

Ibid.

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.2

Stanza 6

Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?

Stanza 23.

None are so desolate but something dear,

Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd

A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

Stanza 24.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,

And roam along, the world's tired denizen,

With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.

Stanza 26.

Coop'd in their winged, sea-girt citadel.

Stanza 28.

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!

Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!

Stanza 73.

Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not,

Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?

Stanza 76.

A thousand years scarce serve to form a state:
An hour may lay it in the dust.

Stanza 84.

Land of lost gods and godlike men.

Stanza 85,

Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.

Stanza 88.

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.

Ibid.

1 "War even to the knife' was the reply of Palafox, the governor of Saragossa, when summoned to surrender by the French, who besieged that city in 1808.

2 See Waller, page 221.