And swiftly forming in the ranks of And burning with high hope, shall moulder

Partly because they blend me with his line,
And partly that I did his sire some wrong,
And partly that bright names will hallow
song,

Those whom they thirst for; though the
sound of Fame

May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake
The fever of vain longing, and the name

And his was of the bravest; and when So honored but assumes a stronger, bitterer

showered

The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files

along,

Even where the thickest of war's tempest

lowered,

They reached no nobler breast than thine,

young, gallant Howard.

Thy thoughts, first ranked, were sure designed the great ;

There have been tears and breaking hearts Passions plebeians are which faction raise;

for thee,

And mine were nothing. had I such to

give;

Wine, like poured oil, excites the raging

blaze;

Then giddy anarchy's rude triumphs rise; But when I stood beneath the fresh green Then sovereign Reason from her empire flies;

tree

Which living waves where thou didst cease to live,

And saw around me the wide field revive

That ruler once deposed, wisdom and wit
To noise and folly place and power submit;
Like a frail bark thy weakened mind is tost,
Unsteered, unbalanced, till its wealth is lost.

With fruits and fertile promise, and the The miser-spirit eyes the spendthrift heir,

Spring

Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,

With all her reckless birds upon the wing,

I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring.

And mourns too late effects of sordid care;
His treasures fly to cloy each fawning slave,
Yet grudge a stone to dignify his grave.
For this, low-thoughted craft his life em-
ployed;

For this, though wealthy, he no wealth en-
joyed;

For this, he griped the poor and alms denied, I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom Unfriended lived and unlamented died.

each

And one as all a ghastly gap did make
In his own kind and kindred, whom to
teach

Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake;
The archangel's trump, not Glory's, must

awake

Yet smile, grieved shade, when that unprosperous store

Fast lessens, when gay hours return no

more

Smile at thy heir, beholding in his fall
Men once obliged like him ungrateful all.

RICHARD SAVAGE.

THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.

FROM THE SPANISH.

OUR horse is faint, my king,
my lord-your gallant
horse is sick;

His limbs are torn, his breast
the

is gored, on his eye

film is thick;

Mount, mount on mine, oh

mount apace, I

pray

thee-mount and fly,

If I should fly, and thou, my king, be found among the dead,

How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head?

"Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain,

And

say, There's one that ran away when our good lords were slain.'

Or in my arms I'll lift Your I leave Diego in your care: you'll fill his

Grace their trampling hoofs are nigh.

father's place;

Strike, strike the spur, and never spare!
God's blessing on Your Grace!"