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Save that sweet, lingering strain of gayer Hours, Whose close my voice prolongs in dying notes, While mortals on the green earth own its pow'rs, As downward on the evening gale it floats. When fades along the West the Sun's last beam, As, weary, to the nether world he goes, And mountain-summits catch the purple gleam, And slumbering ocean faint and fainter glows,
Enough to say that, when for hours each had extended all his pow'rs, toward the quiet evenfall O'Dowd succumbed to young McCall. The champion was a willing lad. He gave the public all he had. His was a genuine fighting soul. He'd lots of speed and much control. No yellow streak did he evince. He tackled apple-pie and mince. This was the motto on his shield "O'Dowds may burst. They never yield."
To Love I vow'd eternal scorn; I saw thee and was straight forsworn! In jealous rage, renouncing bliss, When Damon stole a rapturous kiss, I took, with oaths, a long farewell; How false they were thou best can'st tell. By saints I vow'd, and pow'rs divine, No love could ever equal mine! Yet I myself, though thus I swore, Have daily lov'd thee more and more!
"He plunder'd all my mental pow'rs, My visage, stature, speech, and gait; And, in a word, in a few hours, He was first Adam placed in state: He took my wife, he took my name; All but his nature was the same. "Now see him hide, and skulk about, Just like a beast, and even worse, Till God in anger drove him out, And doom'd him to an endless curse. O hear the whole creation groan!
But since the glorious present of to-day Is meant to grace alone the poet's lay, My claim I wave to every art beside, And rest my plea upon the Regicide. * But if, to crown the labours of my Muse, Thou, inauspicious, should'st the wreath refuse, Whoe'er attempts it in this scribbling age Shall feel the Scottish pow'rs of Crilic rage.
Viewless, through heaven's vast vault your course ye steer, Unknown from whence ye come, or whither go! Mysterious pow'rs! I hear ye murmur low, Till swells your loud gust on my startled ear, And, awful! seems to say some God is near!
And was it thou that didst defend my Heart, That I might live to pay thy Goodness back? Cel. It was to save your Life, and to expose my own. Dia. Come, let's in, and consult what's best for us to do. Bel. Come, my Celinda. Let us no longer doubt, the Pow'rs above Will be propitious to united Love. Cel. Enter Servant. Serv. Sir, my Lord Plotwell is at the Door in his Coach. Dia. My Uncle come!
I shall never envy the honours which wit and learning obtain in any other cause, if I can be numbered among the writers who have given ardour to virtue, and confidence to truth. <gr> Auoet<w?>n eoec macarwn aoentaxios eih aoemoib<h>. Celestial pow'rs! that piety regard, From you my labours wait their last reward. No. 34. Has toties optata exegit gloria poenas. JUV. Sat. x. 187.
Oh! give not these, ye pow'rs! I ask alone, As rapt I climb these dark romantic steeps, The elemental war, the billow's moan; I ask the still, sweet tear, that listening Fancy weeps! Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician.
"What says Miss Barton?" Miss Barton sighed and blushed, or looked as if she meant to blush; and then, raising her well-practised eyes, exclaimed, with theatrical tones and gestures: "Ye sacred pow'rs, whose gracious providence Is watchful for our good, guard me from men, From their deceitful tongues, their vows and flatteries; Still let me pass neglected by their eyes: Let my bloom wither and my form decay, That none may think it worth their while to ruin me, And fatal love may never be my bane."
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