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FRAGMENT ON ALCHEMY.

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So fares the sage, whose mystic labours try
The thorny path of fabled alchemy.
Time, toil, and prayer, to aid the work conspire,
And the keen jaws of dross-devouring fire.
In one dim pile discordant embers blaze,
And stars of adverse influence join their rays;
Till every rite perform'd, and labour sped,
When the clear furnace dawns with sacred red,
From forth the genial warmth and teeming mould,
The bright-wing'd radiance bursts of infant gold.

HONOUR ITS OWN REWARD.

WRITTEN WHEN 14 YEARS OLD.

SWELL, swell the shrill trumpet clear sounding afar,
Our sabres flash splendour around,

For freedom has summon'd her sons to the war,
Nor Britain has shrunk from the sound.

Let plunder's vile thirst the invaders inflame,
Let slaves for their wages be bold,

Shall valour the harvest of avarice claim?
Shall Britons be barter'd for gold ?

No! free be our aid, independent our might,

Proud honour our guerdon alone;

Unhired be the hand that we raise in the fight,
The sword that we brandish our own.

Still all that we love to our thoughts shall succeed,
Their image each labour shall cheer,

For them we will conquer,-for them we will bleed,
And our pay be a smile or a tear!

And oh! if returning triumphant we move,
Or sink on the land that we save,
Oh! blest by his country, his kindred, his love,
How vast the reward of the brave!

IMITATION OF A SONG.

SAID TO HAVE BEEN COMPOSED BY ROBERT DUKE OF NORMANDY, DURING HIS
CONFINEMENT IN CARDIFF CASTLE, ADDRESSED TO AN OAK WHICH GREW
IN AN ANCIENT ENCAMPMENT WITHIN SIGHT OF HIS WINDOWS.
WRITTEN WHEN 15 YEARS OLD

OAK, that stately and alone

On the war-worn mound has grown,
The blood of man thy sapling fed,

And dyed thy tender root in red ;
Woe to the feast where foes combine,
Woe to the strife of words and wine!

Oak, thou hast sprung for many a year, 'Mid whispering rye-grass tall and sear, The coarse rank herb, which seems to show That bones unblest are laid below; Woe to the sword that hates its sheath, Woe to th' unholy trade of death!

Oak, from the mountain's airy brow
Thou view'st the subject woods below,
And merchants hail the well-known tree,
Returning o'er the Severn sea.

Who, woe to him whose birth is high,

For peril waits on royalty!

Now storms have bent thee to the ground,
And envious ivy clips thee round;
And shepherd hinds in wanton play

Have stripp'd thy needful bark away;
Woe to the man whose foes are strong,
Thrice woe to him who lives too long!

TRANSLATION

OF

A FRAGMENT OF A DANISH SONG.

KING CHRISTIAN stood beside the mast,
In smoky night;

His falchion fell like hammer fast,
And brains and helms asunder brast;

Then sunk each hostile hull and mast
In smoky night;

Fly, fly! they shriek'd-what mortal man
Can strive with Denmark's Christian

In fight?

Niels Juel raised a warrior cry,

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Now, now's the day!"

He hoisted up the red flag high,
And dash'd amidst the enemy

With blow on blow, and cry on cry,

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"Now, now 's the day!"

And still they shriek'd-" Fly, Sweden, fly! When Juel comes, what strength shall try The fray ? "

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TRANSLATION

OF

AN INSCRIPTION ON A MONUMENT,

INTENDED TO PERPETUATE THE MEMORY OF THE FRIENDSHIP OF TWO PERSONS WHO WERE LIVING WHEN IT WAS WRITTEN.

"MAY every light-wing'd moment bear
A blessing to this noble pair.
Long may they love the rural ease

Of these fair scenes, and scenes like these;
The pine's dark shade, the mountain tall,
And the deep dashing water-fall.

And when each hallow'd spirit flies
To seek a better paradise,

Beneath this turf their ashes dear

Shall drink their country's grateful tear ;
In death alike and life possessing,

The rich man's love, the poor man's blessing."

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