BOADICEA.-COWPER.

WHEN the British warrior-queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought, with an indignant míen,

Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage, beneath a spreading oak,
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Ev'ry 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

Áll the terrors of our tongues.

"Rome shall perish! write that word In the blood that she has spilt;

Perish, hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin, as in guilt!

"Rome, for empire far renown'd,

Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her príde shall kiss the ground— Hark. the Gaul is at her gates!

Other Romans shall arise,

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 príde,
Félt them in her bosom glów;
Rush'd to battle, fought, and died,-
Dying, hurled them on the foe!

"Ruffians! pitiless as proud,

Heav'n awards the vengeance due.

Empire is on us bestowed,

Shame and ruin wait for you!"

TO THE EAGLE.-PERCIVAL.

BIRD of the broad and sweeping wing,
Thy home is high in heav'n,
Where wide the storms their banners fling,
And the tempest clouds are driv'n.

Thy throne is on the mountain top;
Thy fields, the boundless air;
And hoary peaks that proudly prop

The skies, thy dwellings are.

Thou síttest like a thing of light
Amid the noon-tide blaze:

The midway sun is clear and bright;

It cannot dim thy gaze.
Thy pínions to the rushing blast,

O'er the bursting billow spread,

Where the vessel plunges, hurry past,
Like an angel of the dead.

Thou art perch'd aloft on the beetling crag,

And the waves are white belów,

And on, with a haste that cannot lag,

They rush in an endless flow

Again thou hast plumed thy wing for flight,

Το lands beyond the sea;

And away, like a spírit, wreathed in light,

Thou hurriest wild and free.

Thou hurriest over the myriad waves,
And thou leavest them all behind.

Thou sweepest that place of unknown graves,
Fleet as the tempest wind.

When the night storm gathers dim and dark,

With a shrill and boding scream,

Thou rushest by the foundering bark,

Quick as a passing dream.

Lord of the boundless realm of air,

In thy impérial name,

The hearts of the bold and ardent dare

The dangerous path of fame.

Beneath the shade of thy golden wings,

The Roman legions bore

From the river of Égypt's cloudy springs,
Their pride, to the polar shore.

For thee they fought, for thee they fell,
And their oath was on thee laid;
To thee the clarions raised their swell,

And the dying warrior prayed.

Thou wert thro' an age of death and fears,

The image of pride and power;

Till the gathered rage of a thousand years
Burst forth in one awful hour.

And then a deluge of wrath it came,

And the nations shook with dread;

And it swept the earth till its fields were flame
And piled with the mingled dead.
Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood,

With the low and crouching slave.

And together lay, in a shroud of blood,
The coward and the brave.

And where was then thy fearless flight?

"O'er the dark mysterious sea;

To the lands that caught the setting light

The cradle of Liberty!

There on the silent and lonely shore,

For ages I watch'd alone;

And the world in its darkness asked no more Where the glorious bird had flown.

"But then came a bold and hardy few,
And they breasted the unknown wave;
I caught afar the wandering crew,
And I knew they were high and brave.
I wheel'd around the welcome bark,
As it sought the desolate shore,