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When travelling alone, quite forlorn, unbefriended, Sweet the hope, that To-morrow my wand'rings will
That at home then, with care sympathetic attended, I shall rest unmolested, and slumber in peace!
Or, when from the friends of my heart long divided,
When six days of labour, each other succeeding, With hurry and toil have my spirits oppress'd, What pleasure to think, as the last is receding, To-morrow will be a sweet sabbath of rest.
And when the vain shadows of life are retiring,
WHERE IS THE SEA? *
SONG OF THE GREEK ISLANDER IN EXILE.
WHERE is the sea? I languish here
With all its barks in fleet career,
* A Greek islander, being taken to the Vale of Tempe, and called upon to admire its beauty, only replied, sea where is it?
I miss that voice of waves which first
The measur'd chime—the thundering burst
Oh! rich your myrtle's breath may rise,
sick heart within me dies Where is my own blue sea?
I hear the shepherd's mountain flute
GOD GLORIFIED IN THE WORKS OF CREATION.
WHEN Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil;
When Summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's
When Winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.
The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade;
The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade,
The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on
The moon and stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display.
Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the
Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny? No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Then, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honour Thee.
The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade,
The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake the shade;
The winds be lull'd-the sun and moon forget their old decree,
But we in nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.
THE spearman heard the bugle sound,
And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a louder cheer;
*The story of this ballad is traditional in a village at the foot of Snowdon, where Llewellyn had a house; the greyhound, named Gelert was given him by his father-in-law, King John, in the year 1205. The place to this day is called Beth Gelert, or the grave of Gelert.
"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam?
The flow'r of all his race!
So true, so brave, a lamb at home-
That day Llewellyn little lov'd
And scant and small the booty prov'd;
Unpleas'd, Llewellyn homeward hied,
But when he gain'd the castle-door,
The hound was smear'd with gouts of
Llewellyn gaz'd with wild surprise,
Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd,
O'erturn'd his infant's bed he found,
He call'd his child-no voice replied;
"Monster! by thee my child's devour'd!" The frantic father cried,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
Arous'd by Gelert's dying yell,
Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap,
Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread-
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,-
Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain,
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe,
And now a gallant tomb they raise,