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SPRING

From ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE

N

THOMAS GRAY

OW the golden morn aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing,

With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She woos the tardy spring;
Till April starts, and calls around

The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o'er the living scene

Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance,

The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstacy;

And lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.

THE SCHOOLMASTER

From THE DESERTED VILLAGE

OLIVER GOLDSMITH

ESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault. The village all declared how much he knew, 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher, too; Lands he could measure, times and tides presage, And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. In arguing too, the parson owned his skill; For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound, Amazed the gazing rustics ranged aroundAnd still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew.

THE CRICKET

WILLIAM COWPER

ITTLE inmate, full of mirth,
Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode
Always harbinger of good,

Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive

Such a strain as I can give.

Thus thy praise shall be expressed,
Inoffensive, welcome guest!
While the rat is on the scout,

And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best;
Frisking thus before the fire,

Thou hast all thy heart's desire.

Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,

Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are;
Theirs is but a summer's song
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear,
Melody throughout the year.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM

A

WILLIAM COWPER

NIGHTINGALE that all day long

Had cheered the village with his song,

Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the Glow-worm by his spark.
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent :
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same Power divine
Taught you to sing and me to shine,
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard this short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,

And found a supper somewhere else.

THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE

WILLIAM COWPER

OLL for the brave!

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The brave that are no more!

All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,

Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset ;

Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought,
His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle;

No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;

She ran upon no rock.

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