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Now launch upon the foe

The lightning of your rage;

Strike, ftrike the' affailing Giants low,

The TITANS of the age.

They yield, they break,-they fly;

The victory is won:

Purfue!they faint,-they fall,-they die;

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O'ershadowing laurels deck

The living HERO's brows:

But lovelier wreaths entwine his neck,

-His children and his spouse!

Exulting o'er his lot,

The dangers he has braved;

He clafps the dear ones, hails the cot,

Which his own valour faved.

-DAUGHTERS OF ALBION! Weep;

On this triumphant plain,

Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep,

For you and freedom flain.

O gently close the eye

That loved to look on you;

O feal the lip, whofe earliest figh,

Whofe latest breath was true:

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With knots of fweeteft flowers

Their winding fheet perfume;

And wash their wounds with true-love showers,

And drefs them for the tomb:

For beautiful in death

The WARRIOR's corfe appears,

Embalm'd by fond AFFECTION's breath,

And bathed in WOMAN's tears.

-Give me the death of Thofe

Who for their country die;

And O be mine like their repofe

When cold and low they lie!

Their lovelieft mother-earth

Enfhrines the fallen brave,

In her fweet lap who gave them birth
They find their tranquil grave.

THE VIGIL OF ST. MARK,

RETURNING

ETURNING from their evening walk,

On yonder ancient style,

In fweet, romantic, tender talk,

Two lovers paused awhile :

EDMUND, the monarch of the dale,

All-confcious of his powers;

ELLA, the lily of the vale,

The rofe of AUBURN's bowers!

In airy Love's delightful bands

He held her heart in vain ;

The Nymph denied her willing hand

To HYMEN's awful chain.

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"Ah! why," faid he, "our blifs delay!

"Mine ELLA! why fo cold?

"Those who but love from day to day,

From day to day grow old.

«The bounding arrow cleaves the sky, "Nor leaves a trace behind;

"And fingle lives like arrows fly,

"They vanish thro' the wind.

"In Wedlock's fweet endearing lot

"Let us improve the scene,

"That fome may be, when we are not, "To tell-that we have been."

""Tis now," replied the village Belle, "Saint Mark's mysterious eve;

"And all that old traditions tell

"I tremblingly believe:

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