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Rise, kindling with the orient beam,
Let Calvary's hill inspire the theme,

Unfold the garments roll'd in blood!
Oh, touch the soul-touch all her chords
With all the omnipotence of words,

And point the way to heaven-to God!

XXXI.-HOPE AT THE CLOSE OF LIFE.

UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn, When soul to soul, and dust to dust return! Heav'n to thy charge resigns the awful hour! Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal day— Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin! And all the phoenix spirit burns within!

O deep-enchanting prelude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes! Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die! Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun! Where Time's far wandering tide has never run, From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud! While Nature hears with terror-mingled trust, The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss! Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;

Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er the pangs of Nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heav'n undazzled by the blaze.
On heav'nly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as the hallow'd anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still
Watch'd on the holy tow'rs of Zion hill!

XXXII.—WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE?

WHAT Constitutes a state?

Not high-rais'd battlement and labour'd mound, Thick wall, or moated gate:

Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crown'd: Not bays and broad-arm'd ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride: Not starr'd and spangled courts,

Where low-bred baseness wafts perfume to pride: No-men, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endu'd,

In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude:

Men, who their duties know,

But know their rights: and, knowing, dare maintain,

Prevent the long-aim'd blow,

And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain.

These constitute a state:

And sovereign law, that state's collected will,

O'er thrones and globes elate,

Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.

XXXIII. MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.1

My minde to me a kingdome is;

Such perfect joy therein I finde
As far exceeds all earthly blisse

That God or Nature hath assignde.
Though much I want, that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I

presse

I seek no more than may suffice;
to beare no haughtie sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies.
Loe! thus I triumph like a king,

Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall:
I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all:
These get with toile, and keep with feare:
Such cares my mind could never beare.

No princely pompe, nor welthie store.
No force to winne the victorie,
No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lover's eye;
To none of these I yeeld as thrall,
For why, my mind despiseth all.

1 This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of "Every Man out of his Humour," first acted in 1599, Act I. Scene I., where an impatient person says

"I am no such pil'd cynique to believe
That beggery is the only happinesse,
Or, with a number of these patient fooles,
To sing, My minde to me a kingdome is,'
When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode."

Some have too much, yet still they crave,
I little have, yet seek no more;
They are but poore, though much they have;
And I am rich with little store;
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's losse,

I grudge not at another's gaine :
No worldly wave my mind can tosse,
I brooke that is another's bane.
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend,
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.
I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Croesus' welth a straw;
For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatall law.

My mind is such as may not move
For beautie bright or force of love.
I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plaine, I climb no hill;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feigne not love where most I hate ;
I breake no sleep to winne my will;
I wayte not at the mighties gate;
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich,
I feele no want, nor have too much.
The court, ne cart, I like, ne loathe;

Extreames are counted worst of all:
The golden meane betwixt them both
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall:

This is my choyce, for why, I finde
No wealth is like a quiet minde.

My welth is health and perfect ease,
My conscience clere my chiefe defence:
I never seek by brybes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I.

XXXIV. THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

"How does the water

Come down at Lodore?"
My little boy ask'd me
Thus, once on a time;
And moreover he task'd me

To tell him in rhyme;

Anon at the word,
There first came one daughter,
And then came another,

To second and third

The request of their brother,
And to hear how the water

Comes down at Lodore,
With its rush and its roar,
As many a time

They had seen it before.
So I told them in rhyme,
For of rhymes I had store;
And 'twas in my vocation
For their recreation
That so I should sing;
Because I was Laureate
To them and the King.
From its sources which well
In the tarn on the fell;

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