No thief am I, as some alledge,

Though sore hath cold and hunger try'd me;
I pluck the haw-berry from the hedge,
When human aid is oft denied me.

But hush, my babe! though large the load
Of woes that we are doom'd to carry,
Within some cold grave's bleak abode,
You'll sweetly sleep, with Wand'ring Mary!

ARBROATH.

A. B.

CHORUS *.

CROWNS of oak and laurel bring,
Strew with branching palm the ways;
Tune your pipes, symphonious sing
Songs of triumph, songs of praise.

Hail the Chiefs, the Patriots hail,
Who their foes in arms affail,
And their native land to free,
Welcome death, or victory.

Children join a nation's voice,
Matrons blest, rejoice, rejoice;
Would you rich and happy be,
Welcome Peace and Liberty,

Crowns of oak and myrtle bring,

Strew with branching palm the ways;
To your pipes, symphonious sing

Songs of triumph, songs of praise.

From the Corsicans, an unfinished Play, by C. Leftly, Esq.

ELEGY *

ADDRESSED TO CORNET V—— (NOW GENERAL V—}

IN THE YEAR 1765.

BY ANNA SEWARD.

ERE yet thou seek'st Ierne's jocund shore,
Pensive I weave this tributary lay;

Confess thy Julia must the fate deplore,
That soon shall lead thee o'er the watry way.

Ting'd with no blush, she boasts herself thy friend,
That gentle name, from dangerous wishes free!
Yet will no merit from the boast pretend,
For who, who would not be the friend of thee?

*This Elegy was written in the Author's early youth. A Friend lately told her, that she saw it in a Worcester Newspaper, some time back, and that it was there given as the composition of a Miss Te, then residing in that town. Its real author recollects having permitted Miss T-'s mother to take a copy of these stanzas. It is thus that the permission of transcript is often abused. A. S. 1802.

In the last volume this Elegy, from a part of the MS. being unfortunately mislaid, was printed in a mutilated manner: the last four stanzas were omitted. They were afterwards printed, and given to the purchasers of the volume; but as many persons may not have received them, the Editor thinks it an act of justice which he owes to Miss Seward to give to the Public a correct copy of the Elegy.

While youth, and bloom, and dignity combine,
All that can polish, all that can adorn,

To manly grace attempering softness join,
Life's noon-tide lustres in her orient morn;

While glows thy mind with Sense, and Fancy's boon,
While general praise selects thee for its theme,
Desert so high the coldest breast may own
Awakes and justifies its ow'd esteem.

Love's fairy visions, for a while are gay,
"A little, little while, when they are new;"
But soon the soft enchantment fades away,
Transient as summer morn's exhaling dew.

Then follow a long train of secret woes,
To faithless hope the varied pang succeeds;
The thorny pillow banishes repose;
The wounded heart inevitably bleeds.

Yes, bleed it must, and bleed at every vein,
When the pale brood, of disappointment born,
Attendants oft on Love's tyrannic reign,
Leave the lost Maid her living death to mourn.

If my presaging soul aright divine,
Such the sad lot I am ordain'd to prove,
Shou'd I, rash votary at that dangerous shrine,
Assume the rose-deck'd chains of guileful LOVE.

No wreaths of amaranth he twines for me,
Then guarded rise my gay, and youthful hours!
Calm be my thoughts, my artless bosom free,
From the sharp thorns of transitory flowers!

But, happier amity, pervade my breast,
With tranquil empire thro' these vernal years,
While in Horatio's trusting friendship blest,
Mine his prosperity, and mine his cares.

This sympathizing heart implores the task,
To sooth thee, drooping in thy native clime,
Give then the precious confidence I ask,
The

tender records of the vanish'd time!

My pitying spirit shall partake thy pains,
And grief divided loses power to blight,
Watch the lone sigh, that steals to Gallia's plains,
Where Beauty mourns thy much-unwilling flight.

Ah! pale no more thy star of love should gleam,
Cou'd my soul's wishes its soft orb command,
But point in smiling light each languid beam,
And on the azure zenith shining stand.

O! may unblemish'd Honor guard thy fame,
And plumy conquest triumph on thy sword!
Thine be each meed the milder virtues claim,
Health, Peace, and Plenty, Hand-maids of thy board.

When ardent Youth, and rosy Love are flown,
O! e'en thy graces cannot bribe their stay!
As joy had brighten'd in thy radiant noon,
May soft Contentment gild thy closing day!

The Author had heard, and believ'd, that her friend was attach'd (at the time this little poem was written) to a Young Lady at Angiers.

And when thou soarest from these wayward spheres,
From busy life, and from its silent bourn,

Thine be the bliss, that change, nor period fears,
IN THE BLEST REGIONS OF THE NIGHTLESS
MORN!

SONG,

FROM FLORIAN.

ERE Morn illumes with rosy beams
Our plains, I wake the echoes round,
And tire the woods, and vales, and streams,

With many a love-complaining sound:

While still to ease my heart's consuming pain Echoes, and woods, and vales, and streams, alas! are vain.

On flowery banks, where oaks arise
In shade, no more I find repose ;

I sigh, the ring-dove answering sighs,

Tears swell the stream that murmuring flows; But, ah! to ease my heart's consuming pain, Streams, woods, and vales, and echoes, all are vain.

R. A. DAVENPORT,