MALVERN, thy beetling cliffs, that pierce the cloud,
Majestic rise. With patient step and slow
We mount, and shudder at the gulf below.
Full on the sight romantic visions crowd;
Knoll above knoll uprears its knotty brow;
While tints of tender or luxuriant green

On the slope vale's enamel'd bosom glow;
And smiling harvests float in gold between.

Of Cambria's hills we trace the shadowy height, Ken tapering spires half dipp'd in azure sky:

While with gay wreaths, and fleecy blossoms Pomona sings her fragrant vintage nigh. [dight, Inhale, ye languid nymphs, this genial air; Taste the pure lymph, and feel that health is there.

ANONYMOUS.

On Lord Nelson.

I ASK'D of Time what gallant feats must claim
(Maugre his biting sithe and idle rage)
Proud station, blazed on history's glowing page?
Sullen he scowls, and would efface the name;
But as the fiend his hoary wings uphore
I spied Trafalgar's peak and rocky shore.
I ask'd of Atè, who her ravenous maw
Had gorged most with carnage, wreck, and spoil?
Who best had loved his giant course of toil

To run? whose pendant gave old Ocean law? Came forth a voice- What boots it this to know? My shaft's unerring barb, in yonder fight, Pierced through this living tower of patriot might;

Ask you his name? Go read a nation's woe.'

ANONYMOUS.

To an Oak blown down by the Wind.

THOU who, unmoved, hast heard the whirlwind chide

Full many a winter round thy craggy bed;

And, like an earthborn giant, hast outspread Thy hundred arms and heaven's own bolt defied, Now liest along thy native mountain's side Uptorn; yet deem not that I come to shed The idle drops of pity o'er thy head, Or basely to insult thy blasted pride:

No-still 'tis thine, though fallen, imperial Oak! To teach this lesson to the wise and brave,

That 'tis much better, overthrown and broke In Freedom's cause, to sink into the grave, Than, in submission to a tyrant's yoke, Like the vile reed, to bow and be a slave. ANONYMOUS.

END OF VOL. III.

C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.