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Kissing the hand that guides you to your scars, Which, if it waned and dwindled, earth may thank
And glorying as you tread the glowing bars ? The city it has clothed in chains, which clank
All that your sires have left you, all that time Now, creaking in the ears of those who owe
_Bequeaths of free, and history of sublime,

The name of freedom to her glorious struggles;
Spring from a different theme.—Ye see and read, Yet she but shares with them a common woe,
Admire and sigh, and then succumb and bleed! And call'd the kingdom” of a conquering foe-
Save the few spirits, who, despite of all,

But knows what all-and, most of all, we know-
And worse than all, the sudden crimes engender'd With what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles!
By the down-thundering of the prison-wall,
And thirst to swallow the sweet waters tender'd, The name of commonwealth is past and gone
Gusbing from freedom's fountains—when the crowd, O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe;
Madden'd with centuries of drought, are loud, Venice is crush'd, and Holland deigns to own
And trample on each other to obtain

A sceptre, and endures the purple robe;
The cup which brings oblivion of a chain

If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone Heavyand sore,—in which long yoked they plougli'd His chainless mountains, 'tis but for a time, The sand,-or, if there sprung the yellow grain, For tyranny of late is cunning grown, 'Twas not for them, their necks were too much And in its own good season tramples down bow'd,

The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime,
And their dead palates chew'd the cud of pain : Whose vigourous offspring by dividing ocean
Yes! the few spirits—who, despite of deeds Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion
Which they abhor, confound not with the cause Of freedom, which their fathers fought for, and
Those momentary starts from nature's laws,

Bequeath'd--a heritage of heart and hand,
Which, like the pestilence and earthquake, smite And proud distinction from each other land,
But for a term, then pass, and leave the earth Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's motion,
With all her seasons to repair the blight

As if his senseless sceptre were a wand
With a few summers, and again put forth

Full of the magic of exploded scienceCities and generations—fair, when free

Still one great clime, in full and free defiance, For, tyranny, there blooms no bud for thee!

Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime,

Above the far Atlantic!-She has taught
Glory and empire ! once upon these towers

Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag,
With freedom-godlike Triad! how ye sate! The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag, [bought
The league of mightiest nations, in those hours May strike to those whose red right hands have
When Venice was an envy, might abate,

Rights cheaply earn’d with blood. Sull, still, forever
But did not quench, her spirit—in her fate Better, though each man's life-blood were a river,
All were enwrapp'd: the feasted monarchs knew That it should flow, and overflow, than creep

And loved their hostess, nor could learn to hate, Through thousand lazy channels in our veins,
Although they humbled—with the kingly few Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and chains,
The many felt, for from all days and climes And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
She was the voyager's worship;-even her crimes Three paces, and then faltering:-better be
Were of the softer order-born of love,

Where the extinguish'd Spartans still are free,
She drank no blood, nor fatten'd on the dead,

In their proud charnel of Thermopylæ,
Butgladden'd where her harmless conquests spread:
For these restored the cross, that from above
Hallow'd her sheltering banners, which incessant
Flew between earth and the upholy crescent,

Oh! Woul How Thrd Is th


No, Iwi By



Than stagnate in our marsh,--or o'er the deep
Fly, and one current to the ocean add,
One spirit to the souls our fathers had,
One freeman more, America, to thee!

T In N

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Though lonely and far from the light of her smile,
An exile and weary and hopeless the while,
Could you shed for a moment that voice on my ear,
I will think at that moment my Cara is near,
That she comes with consoling enchantment to speak,
And kisses my eyelid and sighs on my cheek,
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by;
For the dawn of our hope, of our heav'n is nigh!
Sweet spirit! if such be your magical power,
It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour;
And let fortune's realities frown as they will,
Hope, fancy, and Cara may smile for me still!

TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL. 2:32. They try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,

That you are not a daughter of ether and light, D. Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms

That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms; en That, in short, you're a woman; your lip and your 2.3. As mortal as ever were tasted or prest! ** But I will not believe them-no, science! to you =%" I have long bid a last and a careless adieu: 2003 Still flying from nature to study her laws,

And dulling delight by exploring its cause,
You forget how superior, for mortals below,

Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know. Eto Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete, an. Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet;

How rays are confus’d, or how particles fly
Through the medium refin'd of a glance or a sigh!
Is there one, who but once would not rather have

known it,
Than written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it?
No, no—but for you, my invisible love,

I will swear, you are one of those spirits, that rove - By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines,

When the star of the west on his solitude shines,
And the magical fingers of fancy have hung
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue !
Oh! whisper him then, 'tis retirement alone
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone;

with a veil of seclusion between,

to the world let him utter unseen;
And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres,
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears!
Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love,
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove,
To have you for ever invisibly nigh,
Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh!
Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of

I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the
And turn with disgust from the clamorous crew,
To steal in the pauses one whisper from you.

Oh! come and be near me, for ever be mine,
We shall hold in the air a communion divine,
As sweet as, of old, was imagin’d to dwell
In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell.
And oft, at those lingering moments of night, [light,
When the heart is weigh'd down and the eyelid is
You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love,
Such as angel to angel might whisper above!
Oh spirit!—and then, could you borrow the tone
Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known,
The voice of the one upon earth, who has twin'd
With her essence for ever my heart and my mind!

TO NEA. Well—peace to thy heart, though another's it be, And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not for me! To-morrow, I sail for those cinnamon groves, Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from thine eye, oh! perhaps, 1 may yet Its seduction forgive and its splendour forget! Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume ; May spring to eternity hallow the shade, Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has stray'd ! And thou—when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy

home, Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done, And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun, I have led thee along, and have told by the way What my heart all the night had been burning to

sayOh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times, And a blessing for me to that alley of limes!



“ The daylight is gone-but, before we depart,
One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart,
To the kindest, the dearest-oh! judge by the tear,
That I shed while I name him, how kind and how


'Twas thus, by the shade of a calabash tree, With a few, who could feel and remember like me, The charm, that to sweeten my goblet I threw, Was a tear to the past and a blessing on you !

Oh! say, do you thus, in the luminous hour Of wine and of wit, when the heart is in flower And shoots from the lip, under Bacchus's dew,

Where streets should run and sages ought to be!

The dying sun prepares his golden grave!
Oh great Potowmac! oh you banks of shade!
While still, in rich magnificence of prime,
She pour'd her wonders, lavishly sublime,

Nor ret

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In blossoms of thought ever springing and new! Nay-look not thus, with brow reproving;
Do you sometimes remernber, and hallow the brim Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving!
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him, If half we tell the girls were true,
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair, If half we swear to think and do,
And would pine in elysium, if friends were not there! Were aught but lying's bright illusion,

The world would be in strange confusion !
Last night, when we came from the calabash-tree,
When my limbs were at rest and my spirit was free,

If ladies' eyes were, every one,
The glow of the grape and the dreams of the day

As lovers swear, a radiant sun, Put the magical springs of my fancy in play,

Astronomy should leave the skies, And oh!-such a vision as haunted me then

To learn her lore in ladies' eyes! I could slumber for ages to witness again!

Oh no!-believe me, lovely girl, The many I like, and the few I adore,

When nature turns your teeth to pearl, The friends, who were dear and beloved before,

Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, But never till now so beloved and dear,

Your yellow locks to golden wire, At the call of my fancy surrounded me here!

Then, only then, can heaven decree Soon, soon did the flattering spell of their smile

That you should live for only me, To a paradise brighten the blest little isle;

Or I for you, as, night and morn,
Serener the wave, as they look'd on it, flow'd,

We've swearing kist, and kissing sworn!
And warmer the rose, as they gather'd it, glow'd!
Not the valleys Heræn (though water'd by rills

And now, my gentle hints to clear,
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills,

For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear! Where the song of the shepherd, primæval and wild,

Whenever you may chance to meet Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child,)

A loving youth, whose love is sweet, Could display such a bloom of delight, as was given

Long as you're false and he believes you,
By the magic of love to this miniature heaven!

Long as you trust and he deceives you,
So long the blissful bond endures;

And while he lies, his heart is yours:
Oh magic of love! unembellish'd by you,
Has the garden a blush or the herbage a hue?

But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth,
The instant that he tells


truth! Or blooms there a prospect in nature or art, Like the vista that shines through the eye to the heart?

TO THOMAS HUME, ESQ. M.D. Alas! that a vision so happy should fade!

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON, That, when morning around me in brilliancy play'd,


'Tis evening now; the heats and cares The rose and the stream I had thought of at night In twilight dews are calmly wept away. Should still be before me, unfadingly bright; The lover now, beneath the western star, While the friends, who had seem'd to hang over the

Sighs through the medium of his sweet segar, stream,

And fills the ears of some consenting she
And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream!

But see, through the harbour, in floating array,
The bark that must carry these pages away,
Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind,
And will soon leave the bowers of Ariel behind!
What billows, what gales is she fated to prove,
Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I love!
Yet pleasant the swell of those billows would be,
And the sound of those gales would be music to me!
Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew,
Not the silvery lapse of the summer-eve dew,
Were as sweet as the breeze, or as bright as the foam
Of the wave, that would carry your wanderer home!

There These Wool Andet Benea Casto

Hot Thou Toof


Natur But, Whil Thy Yet Her Fouc Prou less


With puffs and vows, with smoke and constancy!
The weary statesman for repose hath fled
From halls of council to his negro's shed,
Where blest he woos some black Aspasia's grace,
And dreams of freedom in his slave's embrace !

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In fancy now, beneath the twilight gloom,
Come, let me lead thee o'er this modern Rome!
Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi bow,
And what was Goose-Creek once

Tiber now!
This fam'd metropolis, where Fancy sees
Squares in morasses, obelisks in trees ;
Which travelling fools and gazetteers adorn
With shrines unbuilt and heroes yet unborn,
Where nought but wood and ********* they see,

If 0 W


And look, how soft in yonder radiant wave,

Che con le lor bugie pajon divini.

I do confess, in many a sigh
My lips have breath'd you many a lie,
And who, with such delights in view,
Would lose them for a lie or two?

You mighty scenes in nature's

morning made,


Jor yet had learn’d to stoop, with humbler care, Thus let us meet, and mingle converse dear 'rom grand to soft, from wonderful to fair!

By Thames at home, or by Potowmac here! jay were your towering hills, your boundless floods, O’er lake and marsh, thro' fevers and thro' fogs, Tour rich savannas and majestic woods,

Midst bears and yankees, democrats and frogs, Where bards should meditate and heroes rove, Thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and eyes Ind woman charm and man deserve her love! With me shall wonder, and with me despise ! Oh! was a world so bright but born to grace While I, as oft, in witching thought shall rove ts own half-organiz'd, half-minded race

To thee, to friendship, and that land I love, Of weak barbarians, swarming o'er its breast, Where, like the air that fans her fields of green, Like vermin gender'd on the lion's crest ?

Her freedom spreads, unfever'd and serene; Were none but brutes to call that soil their home, Where sovereign man can condescend to see Where none but demi-gods should dare to roam ? The throne and laws more sovereign still than he! Or worse, thou mighty world! oh! doubly worse, Did heaven design thy lordly land to nurse Che motley dregs of every distant clime,

CLORIS AND FANNY. Cach blast of anarchy, and taint of crime,

Cloris! if I were Persia's king, Which Europe shakes from her perturbed sphere,

I'd make my graceful queen of thee; in full malignity to rankle here?

While Fanny, wild and artless thing, Zut hush!-observe that little mount of pines,

Should but thy humble handmaid be. Where the breeze murmurs and the fire-fly shines, There let thy fancy raise, in bold relief,

There is but one objection in itThe sculptur'd image of that veteran chief,

That, verily, I'm much afraid Vho lost the rebel's in the hero's name,

I should, in some unlucky minute,
And stept o'er prostrate loyalty to fame;

Forsake the mistress for the maid!
Beneath whose sword Colunbia's patriot train
Cast off their monarch that their mob might reign!

4 CANADIAN BOAT SONG. How shall we rank thee upon glory's page ?

Et remigem cantus hortatur.
Thou more than soldier and just less than sage!
Too form’d for peace to act a conqueror's part,

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Too train’d in camps to learn a statesman's art, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time.
Nature design’d thee for a hero's inould,

Soon as the woods on shore look dim, But, ere she cast thee, let the stuff


cold! We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. While warmer souls command, nay make their fate, Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, Thy fate made thee and forc'd thee to be great. The rapids are near, and the daylight's past ! Yet Fortune, who so oft, so blindly sheds

Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
Her brightest halo round the weakest heads,

There is not a breath the blue wave to curl !
Found thee undazzled, tranquil as before,
Proud to be useful, scorning to be more;

But, when the wind blows off the shore,

Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar,
Less prompt at glory's than at duty's claim,
Renown the meed, but self-applause the aim;

Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee,

The rapids are near, and the daylight's past! Far less than all thou hast forborne to be!

Utawa's tide! this trembling moon

Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Now turn thine eye where faint the moonlight falls

Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, On yonder dome—and in those princely halls,

Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. If thou can'st hate, as, oh! that soul must hate,

Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, Which loves the virtuous and reveres the great,

The rapids are near, and the daylight's past! If thou canst loath and execrate with me That Gallic garbage of philosophy, That nauseous slaver of those frantic times,

FROM THE TWOPENNY POST-BAG. With which false liberty dilutes her crimes !

LETTER II. If thou hast got, within thy free-born breast,

One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest,
With honest scorn for that inglorious soul,

Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's controul, Dear Sir, I've just had time to look
Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod, Into your very learned Book:
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its god! Wherein—as plain as man can speak,
There, in those walls---but, burning tongue, forbear! Whose English is half modern Greek-
Rank must be reverenc'd, even the rank that's there: You prove that we can ne'er intrench
So here I pause---and now, my Hume! we part; Our happy isles against the French,
But oh! full oft, in magic dreams of heart, Till Royalty in England's made

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Have taken much lately to whispering in door-ways;

Which-consid'ring, you know, dear, the size of

A much more independent trade

(While Y-rm-th's sketching out a plan In short, until the House of Guelph

Of new Moustaches a l'Ottomane) Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf,

And all things fitting and expedient And boldly sets up for itself!

To turkify our gracious R–g-ot! All, that can well be understood

You, therefore, have no time to wasteIn this said Book, is vastly good;

So, send your System.And, as to what's incomprehensible,

Your's, in haste. I dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible.

POSTSCRIPT. Butấto your work's immortal credit

Before I send this scrawl away, The P-e, good Sir, the P-e has read it;

I seize a moment, just to say, (The only Book, himself remarks, Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's).

There's some parts of the Turkish system Last Levee-moru he look'd it through,

So vulgar, 'twere as well you miss'd 'em.

For instance in Seraglio mattersDuring that awful hour or two

Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flatters, Of grave tonsorial preparation,

Would fill his Haram (tasteless fool!) Which, to a fond, admiring nation,

With tittering, red-cheek'd things from schoolSends forth, announc'd by trump and drum,

But here (as in that fairy land, The best-wigg'd P-e in Christendom!

Where Love and Age went hand in hand; He thinks with you, th' imagination

Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, Of partnership in legislation

And Grandams were worth any money)
Could only enter into the noddles

Our Sultan has much riper notions-
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles,
Whose heads on firms are running so,

So, let your list of she-promotions

Include those only, plump and sage, They ev'n must have a King and Co.

Who've reach'd the regulation-age; And hence, too, eloquently show forth

That is as near as one can fix
On checks and balances and so forth.

From Peerage dates—full fifty-six.
But now, he trusts, we're coming near a
Better and more royal era;

This rule's for fav’riles—nothing more-
When England's monarch need but say

For, as to wives, a Grand Signor, “ Whip me those scoundrels, C-sl-r-gh!"

Though not decidedly without them, Or_“ Hang me up those Papists, Eld—n,"

Need never care one curse about them! And 'twill be done-aye, faith, and well done.

LETTER V. With view to which, I've his command

FROM THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF C To beg, Sir, from your travellid hand, (Round which the foreign graces swarm)

My dear Lady

- ! I've been just sending out A Plan of radical Reform; Compil'd and chos'n as best you can,

About five hundred cards for a snug little RoutIn Turkey or at Ispahan,

(By the bye, you've seen Rokeby ?—this moment And quite upturning, branch and root, Lords, Commons, and Burdett to boot !

The Mail-Coach Edition-prodigiously fine!) But, pray, whate'er you may impart, write

But I can't conceive how, in this very cold weather, Somewhat more brief than Major C-rtwr-ght;

I'm ever to bring my five hundred together; Else, though the Prebe long in rigging,

As, unless the thermometer's near boiling heat, 'Twould take, at least, a fortnight's wigging,

One can never get half of one's hundreds to meetTwo wigs to every paragraph

(Apropos —you'd have laugh'd to see Tow asend Before he well could get through half.

last night,

Escort to their chairs, with his staff so polite, You'll send it also speedily

The “ three maiden Miseries," all in a fright! As, truth to say, 'twixt you and me,

Poor Townsend, like Mercury, filling two posts,
His Highness, heated by your work,

Supervisor of thieves, and chief-usher of ghosts!)
Already thinks himself Grand Turk!
And you'd have laugh’d, had you seen how But, my dear Lady
He scar'd the Ch-nc-l-rjust now,

notion, When (ou his Lordship's entering puff’d) he

At least for one night to set London in motion ? Slapp'd his back and call'd him “ Mufti!"

As to having the R-gent-that show is gone by The tailors too have got commands,

Besides, I've remarked that (between you and I) To put directly into hands

The Marchesa and' he, inconvenient in more ways, All sorts of Dulimans and Pouches, With Sashes, Turbans, and Paboutches,

the two

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