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THE SPANISH ARMADA.
CLEAR shone the morn, the gale was fair,
When from Corunna's crowded port, With many a cheerful shout and loud acclaim,
The huge Armada passed.
To England's shores their streamers point,
To England's shores their sails are spread; They go to triumph o'er the sea-girt land,
And Rome has blest their arms.
Along the ocean's echoing verge,
Along the mountain-range of rocks, The clustering multitudes behold their pomp,
And raise the votive prayer.
Commingling with the ocean's roar,
Ceaseless and hoarse their murmurs rise, And soon they trust to see the winged bark
That bears good tidings home.
The watch-tower now in distance sinks,
And now Galicia's mountain rocks Faint as the far-off clouds of evening lie,
And now they fade away.
THE SPANISH ARMADA.
Each like some moving citadel,
On through the waves they sail sublime ; And now the Spaniards see the silvery cliffs,
Behold the sea-girt land !
O fools ! to think that ever foe
Should triumph o'er that sea-girt land ! O fools ! to think that ever Britain's sons
Should wear the stranger's yoke !
For not in vain hath Nature rear'd,
Around her coast those silvery cliffs ;
To guard his favourite isle.
On come her gallant mariners !
What now avail Rome's boasted charms ? Where are the Spaniard's vaunts of eager wrath ?
His hopes of conquest now?
And hark! the angry winds arise,
Old Ocean heaves his angry waves ;
To guard the sea-girt land.
Howling around his palace-towers,
The Spanish despot hears the storm ; He thinks upon his navies far away,
And boding doubts arise.
Long over Biscay's boisterous surge,
The watchman's aching eye shall strain ! Long shall he gaze, but never winged bark Shall bear good tidings home.
THE EXAMPLE OF THE BEE.
THE bee observe : She too an artist is, and laughs at man, Who calls on rules the sightly hexagon With truth to form ; a cunning architect, Who at the roof begins her golden work, And builds without foundation. How she toils, And still from bud to bud, from flower to flower Travels the livelong day. Ye idle drones, Who rather pilfer than your bread obtain By honest means like these, behold and learn How good, how fair, how honourable 'tis To live by industry. The busy tribes Of bees so emulous, are daily fed With Heaven's peculiar manna. 'Tis for them, Unwearied alchymists, the blooming world Nectarious gold distils. And bounteous Heav'n, Still to the diligent and active, good, Their very
labour makes the certain cause Of future wealth.
THE APPROACH OF A STORM.
ERE yet the rising winds begin to roar,
THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds ;
all the cells Where memory slept. Wherever I bave heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
THE ORDER OF PROVIDENCE.
All are but parts of one stupendous whole,