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Poems original and translated

By John Herman Merivale ... A new and corrected edition with some additional pieces

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EPILOGUE.

EPILOGUE.

And now my varied song must hasten to its close:
To tell of Britain's after fates demands severer prose,
The tribute of the heart, for temper'd freedom due,
A scheme more wise than ever sage of Rome or Athens drew;
Scheme not by man contrived, by no strait fetters tied,
For what it merits least, alike, most vaunted and decried.

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But oh! be ours the task, with juster sense embued,
To guard the blessings which it bears with jealous gratitude;
No bigot foes to change, which alter'd times demand,
Nor hireling slaves to mob applause when faction tears the land:
With trust in heaven reposed, that, whensoever fate
Shall write Victoria's cherish'd name—(far distant be the date!—)
Sixth in the monumental roll of Brunswick's line,
That name amidst the noblest stars of England's host may shine;
Next hers—the virgin queen, “who quell'd the pride of Spain”—
But purer, milder, and more bright—the bard's true Gloriane.