William Somervile

The bird That glads the night had cheer'd the listening groves with sweet complainings.

Whate'er of earth is form'd, to earth returns, * * * * The soul Of man alone, that particle divine, Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail.

Hail, blooming Youth! May all your virtues with your years improve, Till in consummate worth you shine the pride Of these our days, and succeeding times A bright example.

Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail! Rejoic'd I see thy purple mantle spread O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way, And orient pearls from ev'ry shrub depend.

Hail, happy Britain! highly favoured isle, And Heaven's peculiar care!

My hoarse-sounding horn Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings; Image of war, without its guilt.

Prostrate on earth the bleeding warrior lies, And Isr'el's beauty on the mountains dies. How are the mighty fallen! Hush'd be my sorrow, gently fall my tears, Lest my sad tale should reach the alien's ears: Bid Fame be dumb, and tremble to …

For the next inn he spurs amain, In haste alights, and skuds away, But time and tide for no man stay.

Fortune is like a widow won, And truckles to the bold alone.

He taught them how to live and how to die.