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Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whose it may,

And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues
Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lúngs,
Sounds are but sounds, and, till the cause appear,
We have at least commodious standing here.
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast
From Earth or Hell, we can but plunge at last.

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While thus she spake, I fainter heard the

peals,

For Reynard, close attended at his heels

By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse, Through mere good fortune took a diff'rent

course.

The flock grew calm again, and I, the road
Foll'wing, that led me to my own abode,

Much wonder'd, that the silly sheep had found
Such cause of terrour in an empty sound

So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.

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MORAL.

Beware of desp'rate steps. The darkest day,

Live till to morrow, will have pass'd away.

BOADICEA.

AN ODE.

WHEN the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought, with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Ev'ry burning word he spoke

Full of rage, and full of grief.

Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, "Tis because resentment ties

All the terrours of our tongues.

Rome shall perish-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;

Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.

Rome, for empire far renown'd,

Tramples on a thousand states;

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground

Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name;

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.

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Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.

Regions Cæsar never knew

Thy posterity shall

sway;

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Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they.

Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow:
Rush'd to battle, fought, and died;

Dying hurl'd them at the foe.

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Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heav'n awards the vengeance due;

Empire is on us bestow'd,

Shame and ruin wait for you.

HEROIS M.

THERE was a time when Ætna's silent fire

Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire;
When, conscious of no danger from below,
She tower'd a cloudcapt pyramid of snow.
No thunders shook with deep intestine sound
The blooming groves, that girdled her around.
Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines
(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines)
The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assur'd,
In peace upon her sloping sides matur'd.
When on a day, like that of the last doom,

A conflagration lab'ring in her womb,

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