Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore, Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,' And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life, long since, has anchored at thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distress'dMe howling winds drive devious, tempest toss'd,' Sails ript, seams opening wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he ! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise The son of parents pass'd into the skies. м And now, And, while the wings of fancy still are free," END OF THE THIRD VOLUME. Printed by S. Hollingsworth, Crane-Court, Fleet-Street. PUBLISHED BY ROBERT SOUTHEY. 1. Joan of Arc, 3d edition, corrected, &c. 2. Poems, &c. 3. Thalaba the Destroyer, &c. 4. Amadis of Gaul, from the Spanish Ver sion, &c. 5. Metrical Tales. 6. Madoc, &c. In the Press. Palmerin of England, a new edition, corrected from the original Portugueze of Francisco de Moraes. |