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ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT.
Avenge, O Lord! the slaughtered saints, whose bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;

Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forgot not...

Page 495.

Forget not; in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rolled

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow

O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow

A hundred fold, who, having learned thy way,
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

10

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
“ Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ?"

I fondly ask : But patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies :-“God doth not need

Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : his state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

to

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE ! of virtuous father virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining ? Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire .

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