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NESTOR'S SPEECA. All soundly on their cables slept ev’n till the night
was worn : And when the lady of the light, the rosy-finger’d
morn Rose from the hills, all fresh arose and to the
camp retired, While Phæbus with a foreright wind their bark
Nestor's Speech on the Dream of Agamemnon. “ Princes and councillors of Greece, if any should
This vision but the king himself, it might be held
And move the rather our retreat : but since our
general Affirms he saw it, hold it true; and all our best
means make To arm our army.” This speech used he first the
council brake. The other sceptre-bearing states arose too and
obey'd The people's victor. Being abroad, the earth was
overlaid With flockers to them that came forth ; as when
of frequent bees, Swarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the
111 Of their egression endlessly ; with ever rising new From forth their sweet nest; as their store, still
as it faded, grew, And never would cease sending forth her clusters
to the spring, They still crowd out so; this flock here, that
there, belabouring The loaded flowers; so from the ships and tents
the army's store Troop'd to these princes, and the court, along th’ unmeasur'd shore.
G. CHAPMAN, 1580.
CONSTANCY. Who is the honest man ? He that doth still and strongly good pursue ; To God, his neighbour, and himself most true :
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Whose honesty is not
Who rides his sure and even trot,
Who, when great trials come, Nor seeks nor shuns them, but does calmly stay, Till he the thing and the example weigh ;
Whom none can work or woo
His words, and works, and fashions too, All of a piece, and all are clear and straight.
Who never melts or thaws At close temptations. When the day is done His goodness sets not, but in dark can run.
The sun to others writeth laws, And is their virtue. Virtue is his sun.
THE VILLAGE BELLS.
In the far isles of the main ;
JOURNAL OF EDUCATION.
THE VILLAGE BELLS.
THE VILLAGE BELLS. With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies. How soft the music of those village-bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet; now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where mem'ry slept! Wherever I have heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And, with it, all its pleasures and its pains. Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, That, in a few short moments, I retrace (As in a map the voyager his course) The winding of my way through many years. Short as in retrospect the journey seems, It seem'd not always short: the rugged path, And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn, Mov'd many a sigh at its disheartening length: Yet feeling present evils, while the past Faintly impress the mind, or not at all, How readily we wish time spent revok'd, That we may try the ground again, where once (Through inexperience, as we now perceive) We misa'd that happiness we might have found ! Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend, A father, whose authority, in shew When most severe, and must'ring all its force, Was but the graver countenance of love : Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lour,