Let mankind their tributes bring;
Monarchs, own a higher King.
Young and old, His mercies tell ;
Men and maids, the chorus swell.

Praise Him, saints, above the rest;
Praise Him, for ye know Him best.
All His love and grace record;

Praise our Saviour, praise the Lord.

PSALM CXLVIII. (SECOND VERSION)

YE realms of light and love,
Exalt your Maker's name;
Ye hosts that round Him move,
His power and skill proclaim.
Your voices raise,

Ye cherubim,

And seraphim,

To sing His praise.

Thou moon, that rul'st the night,
Thou sun, that guid'st the day,
Ye countless orbs of light,

To Him your homage pay.

His praise declare,

Ye worlds above,

And clouds that move,

In liquid air.

Let all adore the Lord,

And praise His holy name,

At whose almighty word,

They all from nothing came;
And all shall last,

From changes free,
His strong decree,
Stands ever fast.

Let earth her tribute pay;

Sing, creatures great and small,

In air and land and sea,

And man above them all.

From every shore,

Let old and young,
With heart and tongue,
Their God adore.

And ye, His chosen race,

Ye more than all beside, Who know and share His grace, O spread it far and wide. His love proclaim,

Till all around,

Shall catch the sound,

And seek the same.

PSALM CXLIX.

O PRAISE ye the Lord,

With heart and with voice;

His mercies record,

And round Him rejoice.

Ye children of Zion,

Your Saviour adore!
And learn to rely on,
His grace evermore.

Repose on His arm,

Ye sheep of His fold.
What terror can harm,
With Him to uphold?
His saints are His treasure ;
Their peace will He seek;
And pour without measure,
His gifts on the meek.

Go on in His might,

Ye men of the Lord :
His Word be your light,

His promise your sword.
The King of Salvation
Your foes will subdue ;
And their degradation,
Bring glory to you.

PSALM CL. (FIRST VERSION)

PRAISE the Lord, His glories show. Saints within His courts below, Angels around His throne above: Praise Him, all that share His love.

Earth, to heaven exalt the strain,
Send it, heaven, to earth again;
Age to age, and shore to shore,
Praise Him, praise Him, ever more!

Praise the Lord; His goodness trace !
All the wonders of His grace;

All that He hath borne and done,
All He sends us through His Son.
Strings and voices, hands and hearts,
In the concert bear your parts.
All that breathe, your Lord adore,
Praise Him, praise Him, evermore!

PSALM CL. (SECOND VERSION)

O PRAISE the Lord in that blest place,
From whence His goodness largely flows;
Praise Him in heaven, where He His face,
Unveiled in perfect glory shows.

Praise Him for all the mighty acts,
Which He in our behalf hath done.

His kindness this return exacts,

With which our praise should equal run.

Let all that vital breath enjoy,

The breath He doth to them afford;

In just returns of praise employ ;

Let every creature praise the Lord.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!

THE BATTLE OF SALAMANCA

THE Battle of Salamanca, it will be remembered, was fought by the armies of Great Britain, Portugal, and Spain, under the command of the Marquis of Wellington, against the French, on July 22, 1812. It is evident that the young poet's soul must have been deeply stirred by the struggle, and his admiration for the noble Marquis was unbounded. The poem, which was written soon after the memorable battle took place, is dedicated to the most noble the Marquis of Wellesley' in lines of great strength and beauty. The reader cannot fail to see in the dedication unmistakable evidence of the author's characteristic humility. Both the dedication and the introduction are of special value in preparing the reader's mind for the mighty unfolding of thought which follows with such musical charm. 'The Battle of Salamanca' was one of his prize poems during his Trinity College career, and affords posterity a good idea of his remarkable attainments and powers at this early period.

DEDICATION

TO THE MOST NOBLE

THE MARQUIS OF WELLESLEY

AN unfledged bard, who just had broke
From birch and grammar's awful yoke,
Would spread his glad unfettered wing,
And boldly try to croak or sing.
His bardic rites devoutly paid,
His Muses daily sought for aid,
When bitten nail and swollen cheek

A modern rapture seemed to wake,

With scowling eye and muttering tongue,
For Fancy's topmost cloud he sprung,
As pride or madness led the way
And here, behold, his first essay.

340

For, rushing on with epic aim,

He grasped Britannia's lists of fame,
To seek a Hero for the lays

Which, thus enrapt, he meant to raise :
A Hero round whose noble head

When Fancy's youthful hand had spread
A garland of the fairest flowers

That ever bloomed in Tempe's bowers,
Or hung their heads in airy pride
Around Castalia's mirror tide,

The voice of truth might still declare
Not half his honours gathered there-
Though wide his search, he found but one,
One man like this 'twas Wellington!

For in his warm and generous mind
Such various virtues shone combined;
So great, yet simple seemed he still,
So fired by valour, nerved by skill.
In others' cause so feeling known,
So lavish of himself alone,

That mortals seemed on him to gaze
The phoenix of these later days,
Raised up the masterpiece of fate
For them to praise and imitate !
Like the bright arch that glows on high
When glooms and clouds invest the sky,
Mankind with veneration views
The lofty wonder's brightening hues,
And sees in his resplendent form
The queller of the blackening storm!

And could not reason, could not shame
Deter thee from that sacred theme ?
But thou, poor witling, must profane
Such greatness with thy pigmy strain?
Perhaps thou deem'dst his name enough
To consecrate thy wretched stuff?
Or hopedst, at worst, with him to live,
Like Mævius pinned to Virgil's sleeve ?

I own my folly, own my crimes;
I own them weak and wicked rhymes :
Yet, as the sire with partial care
Regards his crippled son and heir,
In spite of every shapeless feature,
I own, I own, I love the creature.
But bold by desperation grown,
spurn at half a fault alone;

I