Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
How with affrighted eyes

Thou saw'st the wide extended deep
In all its horrors rise!

Confusion dwelt in every face,
And fear in every heart,

When waves on waves, and gulphs in gulphs,
O'ercame the pilot's art.

Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord,
Thy mercy set me free;
While in the confidence of prayer
My soul took hold on thee.

For though in dreadful whirls we hung
High on the broken wave,

I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.

The storm was laid, the winds retir'd,
Obedient to thy will;

The sea, that roar'd at thy command,
At thy command was still.

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths,
Thy goodness I'll adore;

And praise thee for thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.

My life, if thou preserv'st my life,

Thy sacrifice shall be;

And death, if death must be my doom,

Shall join my soul to thee.

9.-Boadicea, an Ode.

WHEN the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,

Addison.

Sage beneath a spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Every burning word he spoke,
Full of rage and full of grief:
Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

Rome shall perish-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

Rome, for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states,
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates.

Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name, Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.

Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cæsar never knew,

Thy posterity shall sway,
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.

Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow,
Rush'd to battle, fought and died,
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heaven awards the vengeance due,

Empire is on us bestowed,

Shame and ruin wait for you.

Cowper.

10.-Hope, the Friend of the Brave.

FRIEND of the brave! in peril's darkest' hour,
Intrepid Virtue' looks to thee for power';
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields,
On stormy floods', and carnage-cover'd fields',
When front to front the banner'd hosts' combine,
Halt ere they close', and form the dreadful line'.
When all is still' on Death's devoted soil,
The march-worn soldier' mingles for the toil';
As rings his glittering tube', he lifts on high
The dauntless brow', and spirit-speaking eye',
Hails in his heart the triumph' yet to come,
And hears the stormy music' in the drum'!

And such' thy strength-inspiring aid that bore
The hardy Byron' to his native shore'-
In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep',
'Twas his' to mourn Misfortune's rudest' shock,
Scourg'd by the winds', and cradled on the rock',
To wake each joyless' morn, and search again
The famish'd haunts of solitary` men ;
Whose race', unyielding as their native storm',
Knows not a trace' of Nature but the form';
Yet, at thy' call, the hardy tar pursued',
Pale', but intrepid', sad', but unsubdued',
Pierc'd the deep woods', and, hailing from afār,
The moon's pale plānet, and the northern star';
Paus'd at each dreary cry', unheard before',
Hyænas' in the wild', and mermaids' on the shore';
Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime',
He found a warmer' world, a milder' clime,
A home' to rest, a shelter to defend',
Peace' and repose', a Briton' and a friend` !

Campbell.

11.-The Moral Change anticipated by Hope.
HOPE! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind,
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind,
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see

The boundless fields of rapture yet to be;
I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan,
And learn the future by the past of man.

Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time,
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime;
Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore,
Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song,
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk,
And bathe in brains the murd'rous tomahawk;
There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray,
And shepherds dance at Summer's op'ning day;
Each wand'ring genius of the lonely glen
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men,
And silent watch, on woodland heights around,
The village curfew as it tolls profound.-

Where barb'rous hordes on Scythian mountains roam,
Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home;
Where'er degraded nature bleeds and pines,
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines,
Truth shall pervade th' unfathom'd darkness there,
And light the dreadful features of despair.-
Hark! the stern captive spurns his heavy load,
And asks the image back that Heaven bestow'd!
Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns,
And, as the slave departs, the man returns. Campbell.

12.-On the Downfal of Poland.

OH! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceas'd a while, And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile, When leagu'd Oppression pour'd to Northern wars Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars, Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn;

Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland-and to man!

Warsaw's last champion, from her height survey'd,
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,-
Oh! Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!-
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains,
Rise, fellow men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high!
And swear for her to live!-with her to die!

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low, murm'ring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death,-the watchword and reply;
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm!-

In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew :-
Oh! bloodiest picture in the book of time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear,
Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career;-
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And freedom shriek'd-as KOSCIUSKO fell!

The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there, Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air— On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dy'd waters murm'ring far below; The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Bursts the wild ery of horror and dismay ! Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! Earth shook-red meteors flash'd long the sky, And conscious Nature shudder'd at the ci