A JUVENILE PRODUCTION.

O LOVELY Mary, could my

heart

Its flame impart to you;

It rolling Danube could not quench,

Nor the Atlantic too.

There's something in these jet-black eyes That speaks with witching art; There's something in those cherry cheeks That wounded has my heart.

Those heaving breasts of purest snow

My senses do confound;

Those lips so moisten'd o'er with dew,
Still deeper strike the wound.

But beauty without virtue is

A mere nonentity;

But when united with each grace,

Its powers who can defy.

In thee does reign conspicuous
That quality divine,

Which is admired by sage and grave,
And worthiest of mankind.

Oh, pay attention to my suit,
Don't drive me to despair;

But softly whisper in my ear

An answer to my prayer.

The sound would vib'rate through my breast, my heart's blood to boil,

Make

No earthly pleasure e'er could yield

Such transport to my soul.

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF THE EDIN

BURGH MUSICAL MISCELLANY, AT A VERY EARLY AGE.

LADS and Lasses, tune your voices,

Sing with glee the jocund catch; While you're young be blyth and merry, But your morals strictly watch.

In your breast ne'er let vice enter,
From envy keep your heart still free;
Make virtue still your close companion;
Contented live and peaceful die.

BONAPARTE'S RETREAT FROM

MOSCOW.

Written extempore upon reading the twentyninth Bulletin, published after his arrival at Paris.

BONAPARTE he says to wily Murat,

For God's sake from Moscow let us get away; For if in vain boasting here time we delay, That bold testy Russian wont give us fair play.

For travelling companion, O, who shall I find?—
Caulincourt who murdered the Duke d'Enghine.
And if by the Cossacks surrounded I be,
No scruple they'll have to sacrifice me.

A sledge for his Highness they quickly prepare, To which there was harnessed two lusty rein-deer, And then at full scamper bold Bonny set off, Pursued by the Cossacks and brave old Platoff.

At Smolensko they nearly had captured the knave;
But he sacrificed thousands his own life to save-
And on his brave army now turning his tail,
For honour and honesty gave them leg-bail.

At Warsaw, in passing, he made a short call,
But the lancers of Poland he liked not at all;
Since Fortune the jilt has on him turn'd her back,
There are few friends indeed when nought's in
the pack.

Yet again the fiend is arrived at St Cloud's, With his laurels all tarnish'd and torn into shreds; And how he did come off will clearly be seen,

If

you study the famed twenty-ninth bulletin.

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

PART FIRST.

O COME, inspiring Muse! come to my aid,

And through my breast thy quickening influence

shed:

Teach me what numbers to reject, what choose, That critics keen may not my lays abuse.

My theme's not now those artless past'ral lays, That trump the husbandman's well meeded praise, Nor of deep statesmen, nor of court intrigues ;These, I for Pindar leave, and those for sturdy whigs.

I sing of War-stern War's gigantic stride,
Which long has desolated Europe wide,

Princes from states, and kings from empires hurled,
And proved the bane and ruin of the world.

Then unto Brussels let us take a bound,

And see what food's amidst the Fleemings found;

E