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Hail, Britannia! hail, Britannia !
THE EMIGRANT SHIP.
FAR away, far away,
The emigrant ship must sail to-day:
Sad and sore, sad and sore, Many a fond heart bleeds at the core, Cruel dread,-to meet no more, Bitter sorrow, sad and sore.
Many years, many years
At best will they battle with perils and fears;
Cruel pilot, for he steers
The exiles away for many years.
Long ago, long ago!
For the days that are gone their tears shall flow:
From all they cherished long ago.
Fare ye well, fare ye well!
To joy and to hope it sounds as a knell :
How the emigrant sighs farewell.
away, far away!
Is there indeed no hope to-day?
Kind and wise it were to pray,
God be with them far away!
THE ASSURANCE OF HORACE.
1 HAVE achieved a tower of fame
And loftier than the royal frame
Which none inclemencies of clime,
Nor endless change, nor lapse of time,
I cannot perish utterly:
The brighter part of me
For I shall always grow, and spread
I shall be sung, where thy rough waves,
And where old Daunus scantly laves
As chief and first I shall be sung,
Though lowly, great in might
Thou then, my soul, assume thy state,
Be proud, as thy deserts are great,—
THE ASSURANCE OF OVID.
Now have I done my work!—which not Jove's ire
My name shall never die: but through all time,
The heedless postman on his path
Is scattering joys and woes;
I never note him trudging near
But all my heart is hope, or fear,
I hope what hope I not ?-vague things Of wondrous possible good;
I dread-as vague imaginings,
Fame's sunshine, fortune's golden dews
O Mystery, master-key to life,
And tempt thy perilous power;
See, on my neighbour's threshold stands
My germs of pleasure, or of pain,
Of trouble, or of peace,
May there lie thick as drops of rain
Who knoweth? may not loves be dead,— Or those we loved laid low,-"Who knoweth ? may not wealth be fled, And all the world my foe?