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Hubert! though the blast be blown
He is helpless and alone:
Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!
And there he may be lodged, and thou be lord.
Speak! astounded Hubert cannot ;
And, if power to speak he had,
All are daunted, all the household
Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,
Long, and long was he unheard of:
But Sir Eustace, whom good angels
Sounded the horn which they alone could sound.
TO A CHILD
WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM
SMALL service is true service while it lasts:
Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one: The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun.
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE
SEAT OF SIR
THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine,
If but the cedar thrive that near them stands,
These groves have heard the other's pensive strains;
By interchange of knowledge and delight.
And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown,
Not mindless of that distant age renowned
When inspiration hovered o'er this ground,
The haunt of him who sang how spear and shield
And of that famous youth, full soon removed
IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME
OFT is the medal faithful to its trust
When temples, columns, towers, are laid in dust ;
That things obscure and small outlive the great :
AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART., AND IN HIS NAME, FOR AN URN, PLACED BY HIM AT THE TERMINATION OF A NEWLY-PLANTED AVENUE, IN THE SAME GROUNDS
YE lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed urn,
Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead,