And if I must bewail the blessing lost,

For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled,
I would at least bewail it under skies

Milder, among a people less austere,

In scenes which, having never known me free,
Would not reproach me with the loss I felt.
Do I forbode impossible events?

And tremble at false dreams? Heaven grant

I

may:

But the age of virtuous politics is past,

And we are deep in that of cold pretence.
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere,
And we too wise to trust them.

*

*

*

*

For when was public virtue to be found
Where private was not? Can he love the whole
Who loves no part? He be a nation's friend,
Who is in truth the friend of no man there?
Can he be strenuous in his country's cause
Who slights the charities for whose dear sake
That country, if at all, must be beloved?

*

*

*

*

Such were not they of old, whose temper'd blades

Dispersed the shackles of usurp'd control,

And hew'd them link from link. Then Albion's sons

Were sons indeed; they felt a filial heart

Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs,

And, shining each in his domestic sphere,

Shone brighter still, once call'd to public view.

COWPER.

XXXII.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

OF Nelson and the North

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;

By each gun the lighted brand

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line :

It was ten of April morn by the chime :
As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;

And the boldest held their breath
For a time.

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

"Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back ;—

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :-
Then ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail ;
Or in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then

As he hail'd them o'er the wave,
"Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save :-
So peace instead of death let us bring :

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet

With the crews, at England's feet,

And make submission meet

To our King."

Then Denmark blest our chief

That he gave her wounds repose ;

And the sounds of joy and grief

From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day : While the sun look'd smiling bright

O'er a wide and woeful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep

By thy wild and stormy steep
Elsinore !

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died

With the gallant good Riou :

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!

While the billow mournful rolls

And the mermaid's song condoles

Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

CAMPBELL.

XXXIII.

"MILTON! THOU SHOULDST BE LIVING."

MILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ;
O! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart :
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea,
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free;
So didst thou travel on life's common way,

In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on itself did lay.

WORDSWORTH.

XXXIV.

THE HERITAGE OF ENGLISHMEN.

It is not to be thought of that the flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity