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ODE.

THE DEATH OF RODERICK. BY E. A. DAvENPORT, ESQ.

Say, traveller, on the distant plain,
Hast thou seen the warrior train;
With lion hearts, the foes of fear,
Each grasping firm his deathful spear?
Roderick leads the dauntless band,
The blooming pride of Cambria's land;
Roderick, whose illustrious name
Blazes on the rolls of Fame:
By valour arm'd, the chieftain goes,
To crush the pride of Cambria's foes.
Ah! what means that boding sigh,
That mournful mien, that tearful eye!
What ill has met the warriors bold?
Oh! haste, the woeful tale unfold!

"Fraught with woe, indeed, my tale!
Down in yon cliff-encircled vale,
The warriors of transcendent worth
Lifeless press their parent earth.
As through the vale, in bright array,
They fearless, onward, bent their way,

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AN EPITAPH

ON THE RIGHT HON. EDMUND BURKE.

Of Burke here lies the cold inactive clay;
His soul exulting in perpetual day:
With universal genius born to shine;
All themes at once to strengthen and refine;
Science, in aid of Fancy, to engage;
And pour it, soften'd, on his ardent page.
Survey the beauties of his classic mind;
The critic leaves Longinus far behind.
Hear the great legislator plead the cause
Of instituted, of eternal laws,
Oppression and Rapacity submit
To matchless Reason, Eloquence, and Wit.
See, while his thunders iron hearts assail,
The tyrants of each hemisphere turn pale!
Hail! Shade beatified! thou Friend of Man!
Friend of God's mortal, and immortal plan!
Thy noble works, that guard us while we live,
Of heavenly bliss a demonstration give:—
For surely minds like thine can never die;
They mount, by nature, and assert the sky;
Their glory fires us, to our latest breath;
Protects through life; and animates in death!

PERCIVAL STOCKDAL^. 1797

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ALTERATION OF THE OLD BALLAD

"Ye Gentlemen of England."

Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas,
Whose flag has brav'd a thousand years

The battle and the breeze;
Your glorious standard raise again

To match another foe,
And sweep thro' the deep,

While the stormy tempests blow—
While the battle rages loud and long

And the stormy tempests blow!

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave;
For the deck it was their field of fame,

And ocean was their grave!
Where Blake (the boast of freedom) fell

Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep

When the stormy tempests blow—
When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blow!

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Britannia needs no bulwark,

No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep:
With thunders from her native oak

She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow—
When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy'tempests blow!

The meteor flag of England

Must yet terrific burn,
Till Danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of Peace return!
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors

Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the tempests cease to blow—
When the fiery fight is heard no more,

And the tempests cease to blow!

EPITAPH ON MRS. GARTHSHORE.

BY MRS. HUNTER.

Bless'd with rare talents, and a soul sincere;
Of active virtue,—strict, but not severe:
Cheerful, as innocent, her days have flown;
The gentle charities were all her own:
Belov'd through life, lamented in its end—
Come, children of misfortune, mourn your friend.

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