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A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,-
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,
Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Itself expired, but leaving them an age
Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way,
That in such gaps as desolation worked,
(SIR WALTER SCOTT.) William Pitt, son of the Earl of Chatham, was born in 1759, and died in 1806
Horatio Nelson, Viscount Nelson, was the son of a clergyman in Norfolk, and was born in 1758. He was killed at the battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Charles James Fox, son of the first Lord Holland, was born in 1748. He entered Parliament when only nineteen years of age. In the House of Commons he was the great opponent and rival of Mr. Pitt. He died in 1806, a few months after Mr. Pitt, beside whom he was buried in Westminster Abbey.
To mute and to material things
But, oh! my country's wintry state
Deep graved in every British heart, Oh! never let those names depart! Say to your sons,-Lo, here his? grave Who victor died on Gadite2 wave! To him, as to the burning levin, Short, bright, resistless course was given. Where'er his country's foes were found, Was heard the fated thunder's sound, Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, Rolled, blazed, destroyed,--and was no more.
Nor mourn ye less his perished worth,
· That is, Nelson. 2 That is, Spanish, from Gades, the ancient name of Cadiz. 3 Lightning.
4 Battle of the Nile, 1798. 5 Battle of Hafnia, that is, Copenhagen, 1801. 8 Battle of Trafalgar, 1805.
Who, when the frantic crowd amain
Hadst thou but lived, though stript of power,
Oh! think how to his latest day,
1. Palinurus, the faithful pilot of Aeneas, who in devotion to his master's cause lost his life.
Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, Because his rival slumbers nigh; Nor be thy requiescat dumb, Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb:For talents mourn, untimely lost, When best employed, and wanted most; Mourn genius high and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, not wound; And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, combine; And feelings keen and fancy's glow,They sleep with him who sleeps below. And, if thou mourn’st they could not save From error him who owns this grave, Be every harsher thought suppressed, And sacred be the last long rest. Here, where the end of earthly things Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung : Here, where the fretted aisles prolong The distant notes of holy song, As if some angel spoke again,
All peace on earth, good-will to men;" If ever from an English heart, Oh! here let prejudice depart, And, partial feeling cast aside, Record, that Fox a Briton died ! When Europe crouched to France's yoke, And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, And the firm Russian's purpose brave Was bartered by a timorous slave; E'en then dishonour's peace he spurned, The sullied olive-branch returned, Stood for his country's glory fast, And nailed her colours to the mast! Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave A portion in this honoured grave; And ne'er held marble in its trust Of two such wondrous men the dust.
XXVI.-IVAN THE CZAR.
(MRS. HEMANS.) Ivan the Great, Czar of Muscovy (1533 to 1584), was besieging Novgorod; but
as he was now old and enfeebled, his generals begged that he would give the command of the assault to his son. This proposal enraged him beyond measure; nothing would appease him; and his son having prostrated hiinself at his feet to seek pardon and reconciliation, the old man struck him with such violence that he died two days afterwards. The father was now inconsolable; he took no further interest in the war, and soon followed his son to
He sat in silence on the ground,
The old and haughty czar;
And leaders of the war :
That many a field had won,
His fair and first-born son.
With a robe of ermine for its bed
Was laid that form of clay,
Through the rich tent made way :
On the pallid face came down,
In the dust, with his renown.
Low tones at last of woe and fear
From his full bosom broke;
How then the proud man spoke !
Had shouted far and high,
Burdened with agony.
And on thy lip no breath;