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And one fond form shall often glide,

When tolls the evening bell, To whisper o'er that tomb and tide

One echoless “farewell !" And shed one tear in that diin grove, The silent tear of parted love.

Raise not for me a Pyramid !

Carve not a stone for me! The tear that gleams in that pale lid

Shall be mine elegy; And in thy breast, thy tender breast, My shade shall find a home of rest!

IN OBITUM

VIRI ADMODUM REVERENDI DOCTISSIMIQUE

THOMÆ FANSHAWE MIDDLETON,

EPISCOPI CALCUTTENSIS.

CARMEN GRÆCUM IN CURIA CANTABRIGIENSI RECITATUM

COMITIIS MAXIMIS, A. J. M.DCCC.XXIII.

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HINDOSTAN.

TRANSLATION OF A GREEK ODE TO THE MEMORY OF THE VERY

REVEREND AND LEARNED THOMAS FANSHAWE MIDDLETON, BISHOP OF CALCUTTA, RECITEI) AT THE CAMBRIDGE COMMENCEMENT, A. D. 1823.

FATHER of rivers, Ganges, hail to thee!

Thou, in the joy of thine unfading day,
Goest thy wonted way,

Unwearied, to the sea;

And, ever gazing with a steadfast gaze

On the huge canopy of sunny heaven,
Singest from morn to even

Thy changeless song of praise.

So thou art happy: for thy hymn is loud

Eternally to Him, th' eternal King:
Doubt flaps her murky wing,

Dim Ignorance spreads her cloud

Around thee; and wild fancies, wild and vain,

Hither and thither thread the lurid air:
Darkness, Sin's mother, there
Holds her unlovely reign;

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* " Oh sight of grief! the wives of Arvalan,
Young Azla, young Nealliny are seen;

Their widow robes of white,
With gold and jewels bright,
Each like an Eastern queen.”.... &c.

See SOUTHEY's Curse of Kehama.

Canto I. “The Funeral.”

And never, since thy glorious course began,

Hath the glad light, Nature's most precious flower, Looked from its home of power

Upon the soul of Man.

How often yet-how often will the sun

Behold the rites of death with that calm smile ?
Lo, they have laid the pile;

The virgins, one by one,

Chant solemnly the hymn—the funeral hymn!

The rich robes float; the costly gems beam bright; The flambean's flickering light

Makes the clear day look dim.

Where is the Victim ? Lo, the bride appears,
Mute, motionless, a blameless sacrifice;
Upon the pile she lies,

Weeping unheeded tears.

Woe for Nealliny, the tender reed !

Woe! she has said th' irrevocable vow ;-
Self-slaughtered ? Answer thou,

Priest of a bloody creed !

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