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Is based upon a rick and this ser
Whose wares are state ere te !

I bears estranhos
(SWEILFOOT, kes SCHURC = tfta mare
centu nenered at the tight cat f kar as a 24

the tree. EARN, Asia సీమను diais pas pe doar it me.

Dance were eres i en lans: 4 ster of Fr, கலக்கற வ ப ப

These images are CLT, anĉ shs * kickasp apte real

Tse presence in the skiver.

gyerers are baseng a size :
I fear your sacred Majesta nas lost
The appetite which yea texte zsed to bare. I ce bear the lega 22. zu un
Allow me now to recommend IS CO-

Gratising about the
A simple biekshas be your Perga cock
Such as is served at ibe zres: Isasoi se.
The price and pains sbicht zuberos,
Might have maists sed scoDE & zess

soch erg decay, I
A winter or two more su pin a cs
Could scarcely disagree.

poo be true whai dat
And these fastidious pers are ros, perhaps Is bere
I may recover pr hast aris,-
I feel the goat fring about as stomach,

pasaran Give me a glass of Maraschisa panch.

I bare rebeared the entire se

With an on-bidder sad swe dzi,

On Lady P.-i cannot badi
[Feing his qisas, es standing up
The glorious constitution of the Bigs!

In such a filthy basiness der

Stand on one side, lei si sprinkle Toe A toast! a toast! stand up, and three times three! A spot or two on me weld de no bara ;

Nay, it migh: hide the brand, with the sa

genius No heel-taps- darkes day-lights !

Of the Green Isle has fired, as trase

['pon my brow-which was stain is SUS LLOCTOXOS.

But which those seas could nerer wash away!

Caret, somebox,
Puts me in mind of blood, and blood of ciares !


My Lord, I am ready-may I am impatiens,
Lanetonos is fishing for a complimente

To undergo the testo
But 'tis his due. Yes, you have drunk more wine, (4 greceau fourt in a missa mais
And shed more blood, ihan any man in Thebes. kartic dawk the Trust, the avrà luan

is sest mu je namen snery

upon its first lisais aryam era For God's sake stop the granting of those pigs ! Die feriaus grutine prestar Pas and the ten*

& the trian. She smeris on the stage par le site PTRGANAX.

and spezies in tors at 11:31 42* à mes de salud We dare not, sire ! 'tis Famine's privilege.

ere becue wWT adder. CHOBCS OF SWIXE.

Mighty Empress ! Death's white wife ! Hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine!

Ghastly mother-in-law of life! Thy thrope is on blood, and thy robe is of rags;

By the God wbo made thee such, Thou devil which livest on damning;

By the magic of thy touch, Saintofnew churches, and cant, and GREEN BAGS;

By the starting and the cramming, Till in pity and terror thou risest,

Of fasts and feasts Sbr thr dreadset, O Famine! Confounding the schemes of the wisest.

I charge thee! when thou wake the multitude, When thou liftest thy skeitton form,

Thou lead them not upon the paths of blood. When the loaves and the skulls roll about,

The earth did never mean her foison We will greet theenthe voice of a storm

For those who crown life's cup with poison Would be lost in our terrible shout!

Of fanatie rage and meaningless rrenge

But for those radiant spirits, who are still Then hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine !

The standard-bearers in the ran of Change. Hail to thee, Empress of Earth!

Be they th' appointed stewards to fill When thoa risest, dividing possessions ;

The lap of Pain, and toil, and Age ! When thou risest, uprooting oppressions ;

Remit, 0 Queen ! thy accustom'd rage ! In the pride of thy ghastly mirth.

Be what thou art not! In voice faint and low Over palaces, temples, and graves,

FREEDOM calls Famine,,her eternal foe, We will rush as thy minister-slaves,

To brief alliance, hollow truce.-Rise now ! Trampling behind in thy train,

(Thilst the veiled Figure has been channting this Till all be made level again!

strophe, Maxmox, Dakar, LAOCTONOS, and SWEL

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POOT, have surrounded Iona TAURINA, who, with

her hands folded on hor breast, and her eyes lifted
to Heaven, stands, as with saint-like resignation,

[During this speech she has been pulling on boots and to wait the issue of the business, in perfect confi

spurs, and a hunting-cap, buckishly cocked on one dence of her innocence.

side, and tucking up her hair, she leaps nimbly on

his back. PURGANAX, after unsealing the GREEN BAG, is gravely

Hoa ! hoa ! tallyho ! tallyho! họ ! ho!
about to pour the liquor upon her head, when sud-
denly the whole expression of her figure and coun-

Come, let us hunt these ugly badgers down,
tenance changes ; she snatches it from his hand

These stinking foxes, these devouring otters, with a loud laugh of triumph, and empties it over

These hares, these wolves, these any thing but men. SWELLFoot and his whole Court, who are instantly | Hey, for a whipper-in ! my loyal pigs, changed into a number of filthy and ugly animals, Now let your noses be as keen as beagles', and rush out of the Temple. The image of FAMINE Your steps as swift as greyhounds, and your cries then arises with a tremendous sound, the Pigs

More dulcet and symphonious than the bells begin scrambling for the loaves, and are tripped

Of village-towers, on sunshine holiday ; up by the sculls ; all those vrho eat the loaves are

Wake all the dewy woods with jangling music. turned into Bulls, and arrange themselves quietly behind the altar. The image of FAMINE sinks through

Give them no law (are they not beasts of blood !) a chasm in the earth, and a MINOTAUR rises. But such as they gave you. Tallyho ! ho !

Through forest, furze, and bog, and den, and desert,

Pursue the ugly beasts ! tallyho ! ho !
I am the Ionian Minotaur, the mightiest

PULL CHORUS OF IONA AND THE SWINE. Of all Europa's taurine progeny

Tallyho ! tallyho ! I am the old traditional man bull;

Through rain, hail, and snow, And from my ancestors having been Ionian,

Through brake, gorse, and briar, I am called ion, which, by interpretation,

Through fen, food, and mire,
Is Joun; in plain Thebar, that is to say,

We go ! we go!
My name's John BULL ; I am a famous hunter,
And can leap any gate in all Boeotia,

Tallyho ! tallyho !
Even the palings of the royal park,

Through pond, ditch, and slough, Or double ditch about the new inclosures ;

Wind them, and find them, And if your Majesty will deign to mount me,

Like the Devil behind them, At least till you have hunted down your game,

Tallyho ! tallyho ! I will not throw you.

(Exeunt, in full cry; Jona driving on the SWINI,

with the empty GREEN BAG.

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In the brief journal I kept in those days, I find Hesitation of whether it would do honour to recorded, in August 1820, Shelley “begins Swell Shelley prevented my publishing it at first ; but foot the Tyrant, suggested by the pigs at the fair of I cannot bring myself to keep back anything San Giuliano.” This was the period of Queen Caro he ever wrote, for each word is fraught with the line's landing in England, and the struggles made peculiar views and sentiments which he believed by Geo. IV. to get rid of her claims ; which fail to be beneficial to the human race; and the bright ing, Lord Castlereagh placed the “Green Bag" light of poetry irradiates every thought. The on the table of the House of Commons, demanding, world has a right to the entire compositions of in the King's name, that an inquiry should be in such a man ; for it does not live and thrive by stituted into his wife's conduct. These circum the out-worn lesson of the dullard or the hypocrite, stances were the theme of all conversation among but by the original free thoughts of men of Genius, the English. We were then at the Baths of San who aspire to pluck bright truth Giuliano ; a friend canje to visit us on the day

from the pale-faced moon; when a fair was held in the square, beneath our Or dive into the bottom of the deep, windows : Shelley read to us his Ode to Liberty ; Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, and was riotously accompanied by the grunting of

And pluck up drowned" a quantity of pigs brought for sale to the fair. truth, Even those who may dissent from his He compared it to the “chorus of frogs” in the opinions will consider that he was a man of genius, satiric drama of Aristophanes ; and it being an and that the world will take more interest in his hour of merriment, and one ludicrous association slightest word, than from the waters of Lethe, suggesting another, he imagined a political satirical which are so eagerly prescribed as medicinal for all drama on the circumstances of the day, to which its wrongs and woes. This drama, however, must the pigs would serve as chorus—and Swellfoot was not be judged for more than was meant. It is begun. When finished, it was transmitted to a mere plaything of the imagination, which even England, printed and published anonymously ; may not excite smiles among many, who will not but stifled at the very dawn of its existence by see wit in those combinations of thought which the "Society for the Suppression of Vice,” who were full of the ridiculous to the author. But, threatened to prosecute it, if not immediately like everything he wrote, it breathes that deep withdrawn. The friend who had taken the trouble sympathy for the sorrows of humanity, and indigof bringing it out, of course did not think it worth nation against its oppressors, which make it worthv the annoyance and expense of a contest, and it was

of his name, laid aside.

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We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon ;

How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly !-yet soon

Night closes round, and they are lost for ever :

The secret things of the grave are there,

Where all but this frame must surely be, Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous

No longer will live to hear or to see (ear All that is great and all that is strange In the boundless realm of unending change, Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?

Who lifteth the veil of what is to come! Who painteth the shadows that are beneath

The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb ? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see 1

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings

Give various response to each varying blast, To wbose frail frame no second motion brings

One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest—A dream has power to poison sleep ; We rise-One wandering thought pollutes the

day ; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep ;

Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away :



It is the same !_For, be it joy or sorrow,

The path of its departure still is free ; Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow ;

Nought may endure but Mutability.


There is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.-ECCLESIASTES.

The pale, the cold, and the moony smile

Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,

Ere the dawning of morn's andoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.

The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere

Each vapour that obscured the sun-set's ray; And pallid evening twines its beaming hair

Induskier braids around the languid eyes of day: Silence and twilight, unbeloved of men, Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen. They breathe their spells towards the departing day,

Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea ; Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway,

Responding to the charm with its own mystery. The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass. Thou too, aërial Pile ! whose pinnacles

Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells,

Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant Around whose lessening and invisible height (spire, Gather among the stars the clouds of night. The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres :

And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all living things

And mingling with the still night and mute sky
Its awful hush is felt inaudibly.
Thus solemnised and softened, death is mild

And terrorless as this serenest night:
Here could I hope, like some inquiring child

Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep (sight That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep.

O man ! hold thee on in courage of soul

Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee roll

Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny.

This world is the nurse of all we know,

This world is the mother of all we feel, And the coming of death is a fearful blow,

To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel; When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery.

TO * * * *


Ou! there are irits in the air,

And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair

As star-beams among twilight trees :Such lovely ministers to meet Oft hast thou turned fivm men thy lonely feet.

Away, away! to thy sad and silent home ;

Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth ; Watch the dim shades as like gliosts they go and

come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy

mirth, The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float

around thine head, The blooms of dewy spring shalì gleam beneath

thy feet : But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost

that binds the dead, Ere inidnight's frown and morning's smile, ere

thou and peace may meet.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs,

And mountain seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things,

Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee; but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes

Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth ;-tame sacrifice

To a fond faith! still dost thou pine ! Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands ?

The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own

repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is

in the deep ; Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean

knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its

appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt rest-yet till the phantoms

flee Which that house and heath and garden made

dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep

musings, are not free From the music of two voices, and the light of

one sweet smile.

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope

Ou the false earth's inconstancy? Did thine own mind afford no scope

Of love, or moving thoughts to thee ? That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.

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AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon,

Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of Away ! the gathering winds will call the darkness

soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene

lights of heaven. Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries,

Away! Tempt not with one last glance thy friend's un

gentle mood : Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not

entreat thy stay : Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.

The moon made thy lips pale, beloved ; The wind made thy bosom chill;

The night did shed

On thy dear head Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie Where the bitter breath of the naked sky

Might visit thee at will. November, 1815

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