A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,— Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted! Which blighted their life's bloom, and then-departed!— Of years all winters !-war within themselves to wage!— The brightest through these parted hills hath forked That in such gaps as desolation worked, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked. XXV.-PITT-NELSON-FOX. William Pitt, son of the Earl of Chatham, was born in 1759, and died in 1806 Horatio Nelson, Viscount Nelson, was the son of a clergyman in Norfolk, and was born in 1758. He was killed at the battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Charles James Fox, son of the first Lord Holland, was born in 1748. He entered Parliament when only nineteen years of age. In the House of Commons he was the great opponent and rival of Mr. Pitt. He died in 1806, a few months after Mr. Pitt, beside whom he was buried in Westminster Abbey. To mute and to material things But, oh! my country's wintry state E'en on the meanest flower that blows; Deep graved in every British heart, Oh! never let those names depart! Say to your sons,—Lo, here his1 grave Who victor died on Gadite2 wave! To him, as to the burning levin,3 Short, bright, resistless course was given. Where'er his country's foes were found, Was heard the fated thunder's sound, Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, Rolled, blazed, destroyed,—and was no more. Nor mourn ye less his perished worth, That is, Nelson. 2 That is, Spanish, from Gades, the ancient name of Cadiz. 3 Lightning. 4 Battle of the Nile, 1798. 5 Battle of Hafnia, that is, Copenhagen, 1801. • Battle of Trafalgar, 1805. Who, when the frantic crowd amain And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's laws. Hadst thou but lived, though stript of power, A watchman on the lonely tower, Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, When fraud and danger were at hand; Our pilots had kept course aright; Thy strength had propped the tottering throne. The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, The trumpet's silver sound is still, The warder silent on the hill! Oh! think how to his latest day, When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey, Each call for needful rest repelled, With dying hand the rudder held, Till, in his fall, with fateful sway He who preserved them, Pitt, lies here! Palinurus, the faithful pilot of Aeneas, who in devotion to his master's cause lost his life. Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, Because his rival slumbers nigh; Nor be thy requiescat dumb, Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb:For talents mourn, untimely lost, When best employed, and wanted most; Mourn genius high and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, not wound; And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, combine; And feelings keen and fancy's glow,— They sleep with him who sleeps below.. And, if thou mourn'st they could not save From error him who owns this grave, Be every harsher thought suppressed, And sacred be the last long rest. Here, where the end of earthly things Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung: Here, where the fretted aisles prolong The distant notes of holy song, As if some angel spoke again, 66 All peace on earth, good-will to men; "- XXVI.-IVAN THE CZAR. (MRS. HEMANS.) Ivan the Great, Czar of Muscovy (1533 to 1584), was besieging Novgorod; but as he was now old and enfeebled, his generals begged that he would give the command of the assault to his son. This proposal enraged him beyond measure; nothing would appease him; and his son having prostrated himself at his feet to seek pardon and reconciliation, the old man struck him with such violence that he died two days afterwards. The father was now inconsolable; he took no further interest in the war, and soon followed his son to the grave. He sat in silence on the ground, The old and haughty czar; Lonely, though princes girt him round, He had cast his jewelled sabre, That many a field had won, To the earth beside his youthful dead, With a robe of ermine for its bed And a sad and solemn beauty On the pallid face came down, Which the lord of nations mutely watched Low tones at last of woe and fear A mournful thing it was to hear How then the proud man spoke! The voice that through the combat Had shouted far and high, Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones, "There is no crimson on thy cheeks, And on thy lip no breath; |