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Brother, we sing thee the song of death,
In thy coffin of bark we lay thee to rest,

The bow shall be placed by thy side,
And the shafts that are pointed and feather'd for flight.

To the Country of the Dead
Long and painful is thy way!
Over rivers wide and deep
Lies the road that must be past,

By bridges narrow-wall'a
Where scarce the Soul can force its way,
While the loose fabric totters under it.

Safely may our Brother pass !

Safely may he reach the fields,
Where the sound of the drum and the shell
Shall be heard from the Country of Souls !

The Spirits of thy Sires

Shall come to welcome thee;
The God of the Dead in his bower
Shall receive thee and bid thee join
The dance of eternal joy.

Brother we pay thee the rites of death,
Rest in the bower of delight!

ERTHUSYO.

RECANTATION, Illustratell in the STORY of the MAD OX.

By S. T. COLERIDGE.

I.

An Ox, long fed with musty hay,

And work'd with yoke and chain, Was turn'd out on an April day, When fields are in their best array, And growing grasses sparkle gay,

At once' with sun and rain.

II.

The grass was fine, the sun was bright,

With truth I may aver it ;
The Ox was glad, as well he might,
Thought a green meadow no bad sight,
And frisk'd to shew his huge delight,

Much like a beast of spirit.

III.

Stop, neighbours ! stop! why these alarms?

“ The Ox is only glad.". But still they pour from cots and farms Halloo ! the Parish is

up

in arms (A hoaxing hunt has always charms)

Hallo0! THE Ox is MAD.

IV.

The frighted beast scamper'd about,

Plunge! thro' the hedge he drove.
The mob pursue with hideous rout,
· A bull-dog fastens on his snout,
He gores the dog, his tongue langs out-

He's mad, he's mad, by Jove !

V.

“Stop, neighbours, stop !" aloud did call
A
sage

of sober hue.
But all at once on him they fall,
And women squeak and children squall,
“ What! would you have him toss us all !

« And damme! who are you?”

VI.

Ah hapless sage! his ears they stun,

And curse him o'er and o'er" You bloody-minded dog !" (cries one) " To slit your windpipe were good fun* 'Od blyou

* impious son “ Of a presbyterian wre!

for an

VII.

“ You'd have him gore the parish priest,

“ And run against the altar* You Fiend !"— The sage his warnings ceas'd, And North, and South, and West, and East, Halloo! they follow the poor beast,

Mat, Dick, Tom, Bob, and Walter,

* One of the many fine words which the most uneducated had about this time a constant opportunity of acquiring from the sermons in the pulpit, and the proclamations on the

corners.

VIII.

Old Lewis, 'twas his evil day,

Stood trembling in his shoes ;
The Ox was his—what could he say?
His legs were stiffen'd with dismay,
The Ox ran o'er him mid the fray,
And

gave him his death's bruise.

IX.

The frighted beast ran on-but here,

The gospel scarce more true is-
My muse stops short in mid career--
Nay! gentle reader! do not sneer,
I cannot chuse but drop a tear,

A tear for good old Lewis.

X.

The frighted beast ran thro' the town,

All follow'd, boy and dad, Bulldog, Parson, Shopman, Clown, The Publicans rush'd from the Crown, “Halloo ! hamstring him! cut him down !"

They drove the poor Ox mail.

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