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Now Gorcum glows beneath the summer sky,
And lesser must give place to greater treats;
Is tenfold worse than was the pinching cold;
But we must take the bitters with the sweets,
He only frets himself, who fumes and scolds
At cureless ills- -how oft must this be told?
Nay, there are those, and certes oft have been,
"Tis said that Socrates's scolding quean,
Who gave him many a broken head to heal,
First taught him patience, which he straight would deal,
And preach to others-eke Demosthenes1,
A very stammerer by Nature's seal,
1 It is known to every one, that Demosthenes was born with great natu
In time by management of tongue and face,
What! rain again! 'tis fanciful, 'tis strange;
From the plain prose of life, so tame, so fix'd.
Of June brought woe to every British heart;
So does it seem to 've sadden'd and perplex'd The very heavens themselves, which do impart A flood of piteous tears, incessant, smart:
Sure ne'er since the days of the Deluge of old,
ral defects; but which, with care, he completely overcame, so that he could
Would'st thou know why this gloom so long darkens the sky?
Whence those waters which fall have their spring? 'Tis the firmament weeps that a Monarch must die,
That Monarch our Father, our King!
"THE STAR OF BRITAIN."
The Star which rose o'er Britain's Isle,
Whilst Gallic wrath and tyrant wile,
Shook empires to their base.
The Star, which, with its brilliant light,
By myriads who, in pale affright,
The Star, beneath whose kindling ray
The Despot was enchain'd,
And peace on earth, through England's sway,
Restor'd and still maintain'd.
That Star, alas! has just gone down,
And darkness fills the realm:
Our King has, for a worldly crown,
Found one of heavenly calm!!
But let us leave those sorrows, for behold,
Just peeping through yon cloud, thy brightening spire, Old Nimeguen-'twould shame us to be told,
That we should lack or feeling, force or fire,
With thee in sight-Oh! No! thou could'st inspire
The veriest clod-within thy sacred walls,
Proud Charlemagne, Ay! Cæsar too still higher,
Wont wield the rod of state-But in thy halls,
Was sign'd that shameful peace which still recalls
A sneer of pity for the witless few,
Who were the dupes of Gallic sophistry:
1 It was altogether in opposition to the wishes of their Stadtholder, William III. that the Treaty of Nimeguen was concluded by the United Provinces; but Louis XIV. had contrived, with his usual address, to divide the allies; pleasing the Dutch by restoring to them Maestricht, but at the same time, dictating most disadvantageous terms to their Allies; then it was that Spain gave up to France, not only Franche Comte, but several cities in Flanders, such as Valenciennes, Bouchain, Condé, Cambray, &c. &c.
Lo! here too lies the dastard's glave which slew,
Thy twain 1 brave honour'd sons, but so to die,
Soaring aloft, and mingling with those souls,
Who, from this nether world would sometimes hie,
'Tis somewhat strange, but martyrdom consoles !
And well it may, console us of that land,
The noble band, who gain'd us that great thing,
And hence far abler heads, and wiser reigns,
In yielding more, have strengthen'd more the string,
A British Monarch, and his loyal swains!
1 The sword with which Counts Hoorn and Egmont were beheaded, is still preserved at Nimeguen,-those two high-minded lords who spurned the control of the Spanish general, the Duke of Alva, and ultimately fell beneath his cruel axe in 1568.