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You ask me why, though ill at ease,

Within this region I subsist,

Whose spirits fail within the mist, And languish for the purple seas.

It is the land that freemen till,

That sober-suited Freedom chose;

The land, where girt with friends or foes, A man may speak the thing he will;

A land of settled government,

A land of just and old renown,

Where Freedom broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent.

Should banded unions persecute

Opinion, and induce a time

When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute;

Though Power should make from land to land

The name of Britain trebly great ;

Though every channel in the state Should almost choke with golden sand ;

Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth,

Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky;

And I will see before I die
The palms and temples of the South.


Libera Tellus.

Quaeris solicito cur ita taedio
Obpressus patriae semper inhaeream,
Cui cor deficiens purpureum mare

Hic intra nebulas avet.
Glebam scilicet hanc libera gens arat,
Iam pridem modico sobria pallio
Libertas habet hic perpetuam domum:

Qua vir gente vel invida
Vel cinctus sociis audeat eloqvi
Qvod sit cumqve animo: fultaqve legibus
Iustum per memores terra tulit decus

Fastos; iuraqve libera
Tardis augminibus latius exstruit
Scitorum series innumerabilis.
Qvod si verba animi candida promere

Coniurata vetet cohors
Inducatqve malos in patriam dies
Qvom sentire secus sit vetitum nefas,
Et ius cuiqve suum conticeat metu:

Aucta vi ter et amplius
Per gentes hominum fama Britanniae
Crescat; paene etiam proluat alveos
Omnes auriferi conluvies luti,

Per qvos res fluit imperi;
Me portus tamen hinc aufer ab ostio,
Velox aura; prius qvam moriar, die
Palmas sub medio visam ego templaqve,
Caelum qvae melius tegit.

H. A. J. M.

The Patriot.

Ye eldest gods, Who, mindful of the empire which ye held Over dim chaos, keep revengeful watch On falling nations, and on kingly lines About to sink for ever; ye, who shed Into the passions of earth's giant brood, And their fierce usages, the sense of justice; Who clothe the fated battlements of tyranny With blackness as a funeral pall, and breathe Through the proud halls of time-embolden'd guilt Portents of ruin, hear me! In your presence, For now I feel

ye nigh, I dedicate This arm to the destruction of the king And of his race! O keep me pitiless! Expel all human weakness from my frame, That this keen weapon shake not when his heart Should feel its point; and if he has a child Whose blood is needful to the sacrifice My country asks, harden my soul to shed it!


King Charles the Second.
Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King,

Whose word no man relies on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.


Amans Patriae.

Παλαίτατοι θεών, οίπερ, ής αρχής το πρίν
χάους άμαυρου δεσπόται κατέσχετε
μνήμην έχοντες, νύν έθνη φυλάσσετε
ήδη κάτω νεύοντα, και πεσουμένους
δόμους τυράννων έγκοτοι καθήμενοι
οι καί τιν' έσμών γηγενών ες άγρια
εμβάλλετήθη και τρόπους ώμους δίκην
οί τ' αμφ' επάλξεις δωμάτων τυραννικών
ώσπερ τιν' "Αιδου πέπλον αμφιβάλλετε
σκότος, δι' αυλών έμπνέοντες ενδίκως
άτην προσημαίνοντας οιωνούς σαφείς:
ήδη κλύοιτ' αν ευμενείς εμών λιτών:
υμών παρόντων πλησίον, σάφ' οίδα γάρ,
ταύτην δίδωμι χείρ' αφιερωμένην
τη του τυράννου και γένους διαφθορά.
προς ταύτ' ανοίκτους κάκ γυναικείων τρόπων
μεθαρμόσαιτ' άν ανδρικάς εμοί φρένας,
το μη τρέμειν τόδ' εν σφαγής ακμή ξίφος:
είδ' έστ' εκείνο τέκνον ού δείται φόνου
το θυμ' όμαιτει πατρίς, όπως δε θήξετε
το μή με δρώντα μαλθακισθήναι φρένα.

Ε. Μ. C.

Rex Carolus.

Rex bone, nemo tibi vult credere; tempore nullo Nec stulte loqveris, nec sapienter agis.



The Chase.

Now my brave youths, Now give a loose to the clean generous steed, Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur; But in the madness of delight forget Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range, And dangerous our course; but in the brave True courage never fails. In vain the stream In foaming eddies whirls : in vain the ditch Wide gasping, threatens death. The craggy steep, Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, And clings to every twig, gives us no pain; But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill, By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft: So ships in winter seas now sliding sink Adown the steepy wave, then toss'd on high, Ride on the billows, and defy the storm. What lengths we pass! Where will the wandering

chase Lead us bewilder'd? Smooth as swallows skim The new-shorn mead, and far more swift, we fly. See my brave pack: now to the head they press, Jostling in close array, then more diffuse Obliquely wheel, while from their opening mouths The vollied thunder breaks. So when the cranes Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang From cloud to cloud rebounds.


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