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[ TRANSLATED BY ANDREW ] MARVELL . ] " Stet quieuncjue volet potens Aulas eulmine lubrico . ' * ---Seineca . C li ^^ Tottering favour ' s pinnacle ; All I seek is to lie still .
AFTER SENEGA .
FROM POETEY OF THE SEVEiNTEENTH € EKTUEf .
Settledin some secret nest , Pass away my silent age . Thus , whe ^ I have lived out all my span , I shall die without a groahy An old , honest country-man . Who , exposed to others eyes , Into his own heart never prys , Death to him ' s a strange surprise .
ON THE EARLY SINGING OF A LARK . BY HENRY MABTIN , Attend , my soul ! the early birds inspire My grovelling thoughts with pure celestial fire ; They from their temperate sleep awake , and pay
Their thankful anthems to the new-born day . See how the tuneful lark is mounted high ! And poet- like , salutes the eastern sky . He warbles through the fragrant air his lays , And seems the beauties ofthe morn to praise .
But man , more void of gratitude , awakes , And gives no thanks for that sweet rest he takes ! Looks on the glorious sun ' s new kindled flapae Without one thought of Him from whom it came . The wretch , unhallowed doth the day begin ; Shakes off his sleep , but shakes not off his sin .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Selections
\ fir
[ TRANSLATED BY ANDREW ] MARVELL . ] " Stet quieuncjue volet potens Aulas eulmine lubrico . ' * ---Seineca . C li ^^ Tottering favour ' s pinnacle ; All I seek is to lie still .
AFTER SENEGA .
FROM POETEY OF THE SEVEiNTEENTH € EKTUEf .
Settledin some secret nest , Pass away my silent age . Thus , whe ^ I have lived out all my span , I shall die without a groahy An old , honest country-man . Who , exposed to others eyes , Into his own heart never prys , Death to him ' s a strange surprise .
ON THE EARLY SINGING OF A LARK . BY HENRY MABTIN , Attend , my soul ! the early birds inspire My grovelling thoughts with pure celestial fire ; They from their temperate sleep awake , and pay
Their thankful anthems to the new-born day . See how the tuneful lark is mounted high ! And poet- like , salutes the eastern sky . He warbles through the fragrant air his lays , And seems the beauties ofthe morn to praise .
But man , more void of gratitude , awakes , And gives no thanks for that sweet rest he takes ! Looks on the glorious sun ' s new kindled flapae Without one thought of Him from whom it came . The wretch , unhallowed doth the day begin ; Shakes off his sleep , but shakes not off his sin .