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Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Fear not your ships
But come on shore,
For swelling waves, our panting breasts,
Where never storms arise,
For stars gaze on our eyes ;
We will not miss
Then come on shore,
Middle Temple, and published, in 1613, the first part of his “ Britannia's Pastorals," folio. In 1614 was published his “ Shepherd's pipe,” 8vo. (containing also the pirated edition of Wither, 1620,) and in 1616, the second part of the “ Pastorals.” Both parts were reprinted in 1625, 8vo. In 1624, he re. turned to Exeter College and became tutor to Robert Dormer, afterwards Earl of Cærnarvon. During his stay he was created A. M. being styled in the public register “ Vir omni humana literatura et bonarum artium cogni. tione instructus." He then went into the family of the Earl of Pembroke, obtained wealth, and purchased an estate, and is supposed to have died in 1645. See Wood (Ath. Ox. I. 491.) who says “ that as he had a little body, so a great mind.” We are indebted to Browne for having preserved in his "Shepherd's Pipe" a curious poem by Occleve. Mr. Warton conceives his works “to have been well known to Milton,” and refers to “ Britannia's Pastorals" for the same assemblage of circumstances in the morning land. scape as were brought together more than thirty years afterwards by Milton, in a passage of L'Allegro, which has been supposed to serve as a repository of imagery on that subject for all succeeding poets."
WEEP NOT FOR THE FALLEN BRAVE.
AIR."Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled."
Weep not for the fallen brave,
Where a Patriot lies.
Beauty's softest sighs.
Who that boasts a Briton's pride,
Crown'd by victory?
Waterloo ! that morning field
gay with spear and shield,
Joy and revelry.
Waterloo, thy field shall well
They that shrunk to see.
Bless their memory!
WHEN FIRST UPON YOUR TENDER CHEEK.
When first upon your tender cheek,
With mild and cheering beam,
* Tbe composition of Miss Aiken, now Mrs.Barbauld, the distinguished sis. ter of Dr. Aiken, who, by condescending, amidst more splendid efforts of intel.
I bow'd before your infant shrine,
And you my darling theme.
I saw you in that opening morn,
And first confess'd your sway,
I gave my heart away.
I watch'd the dawn of every grace,
While yet 'twas safe to gaze;
The peace of future days.
But now, despotic o'er the plains,
And kneeling crowds adore ;
And I must hope no more.
Ject, to write “Hymns in prose for children," has ensured to herself the respect and gratitude of every filial and parental heart.
Thus, to the rising god of day
And bless the spreading fire,
They sicken and expire.
OH, ONCE THERE WERE MINUTES.
Oh, once there were minutes when light my heart beat,
The gay hours of summer, pass'd lightly along,