JAMES MONTGOMERY. 1771-1854. (Manual, p. 432.) FROM "THE WEST INDIES." 314. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME. There is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven, o'er all the world beside ; In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole; And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. "Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found?” Art thou a man? a patriot? - look around; O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, That land THY COUNTRY, and that spot THY HOME! 315. PRAYER. Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The upward glancing of an eye, HORACE SMITH. 1780-1849. (Manual, p. 432.) 316. ADDRESS TO A MUMMY. And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) And time had not begun to overthrow Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dumby: Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect To whom we should assign the Sphinx's fame? Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect Of either Pyramid that bears his name? Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer? Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer? Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade Then say, what secret melody was hidden In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played? Perhaps thou wert a Priest — if so, my struggles Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles. Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass, I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, Long after thy primeval race was run. Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, Still silent, incommunicative elf! Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But prythee tell us something of thyself, Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, what strange adventures numbered? Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations; The Roman empire has begun and ended, New worlds have risen we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast, Imperishable type of evanescence! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, Why should this worthless tegument endure, If its undying guest be lost forever? O, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue, that, when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. GEORGE CANNING. 1770-1827. FROM "THE ANTIJACOBIN." 317. THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRinder. Friend of Humanity. Needy Knife-grinder, whither are you going? Rough is your road, your wheel is out of order; Weary Knife-grinder, little think the proud ones, Scissors to grind, O!" Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives? Was it the squire or parson of the parish, Or the attorney? Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or (Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your Knife-Grinder. Story! God bless you, I have none to tell, Sir; Constables came up for to take me into Stocks for a vagrant. I should be glad to drink your honor's health in With politics, Sir. Friend of Humanity. I give thee sixpence! I will see thee hanged first- Spiritless outcast! [Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.] JOHN WILSON. 1785-1854. (Manual, p. 469.) Together will ye walk through long, long streets, |