What ambition, malice, riot,

The world divide, defame, disquiet,

When, the Muses put to flight,
Enter anarchy and night,

Marring ev'ry tuneful string,

THE WATER MELON.

'Twas noon, and the reapers repos'd on the bank Where our rural repast had been spread, Beside us meander'd the rill where we drank,

And the green willows wav'd over head;

With smiles, like the season, auspicious,

wing?

The sons of Genius pleasures share,
That scorn with sensual to compare.
Theirs is the warm expansive soul
That tastes the pleasures of the whole;
From other's good more joy they feel,
Than Bacchus' mysteries can reveal;"

And e'en in humble home,
They mount the winds, pursue the sun,
Thro' all the mazy wonders run

Of space's ample dome : Soaring, they snatch a wreath from Fate, Above the creeping triumphs of the great.

Had render'd the scene and the banquet more

sweet

O! that some spirit from on high would deign Our ever-restless passions to control; Whose tranquillizing influence might restrain This fearful emigration of the soul!

O'er fallen Romilly's untimely urn,

Dumb be detraction-banished party rage; While all whose hearts can feel, in union mourn The patriot senator-the active sage.

Not his th' inglorious course that seeks renown In faction's trammels, lured by rank or place; The mighty genius he might boast his own, Aspired to plead for all the human race.

Him future ages shall proclaim their friend, Who raised his voice in unborn millions'

"In the seeds which embellished this red juicy

core,

MOORE'S NATIONAL MELODIES.

THOSE evening bells, those evening bells,
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth and home, and that sweet time
Since last I heard their soothing chime.

Those joyons hours are pass'd away,
And many a friend that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.
And so 'twill be when I am gone,
That tuneful peal will stili ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing thy praise, sweet evening bells!

THE DEAD SOLDIER.

FROM THE GERMAN OF LAVATER.

HB sleeps! The hour of mortal pain
And warrior pride alike are past,
His blood is mingling with the rain,
His cheeks are withering in the blast.
This morn there was a a bright hue there,
The flash of courage stern and high;
The steel has drained its current clear,
The storm has bleached its gallant dye.

This morn these icy hauds were warm,
That lid half shewing the glaz'd ball,
Was life-thou chill and clay-faced form,
Is this the one we lov'd? This all
Ff2

1

fair."

ANGELS ever fair and bright,
As ye wave your wings of light,
Viewless spirits deign to hear
Her who now prefers her prayer;
Angels ever bright and fair,
Take, oh! take her to your care.

BY MISS M. LEMAN REDB.

VEIL'D is the lustre of feminine sweetness!
Kindred angels have call'd her away!
Existence I weep as I dwell on thy fleetness,
Not even her purity woo'd thee to stay.

Could not the charms that rose smiling to meet thee

The soft ties of nature enshrined in her breast, Cou'd not the voice of the orphan entreat theeThe prayers of the widow thy purpose arrest? O! from the arms of the fondest devotion, She pass'd like the sun in its parting sublime, Descending serene to eternity's ocean,

And leaving her name to the homage of time. Her beam was withdrawn, and it shrouded that

grandeur

Which aw'd the still millions he tower'd above,

VALENTINE'S EVE.
BY MRS. M'MULLAN.

AWAKE no sigh, record no pain,
But sound the lyre's convivial strain,
And summon all the smiling train

To hail this blissful ear.
To care a truce-to grief a pause,
To friendship fill the sparkling vase,
And write in mem'ry's code of laws
What sages may believe.

That whatsoe'er the schools reveal,
There's not one pang pure hearts may feel,
Which love and friendship cannot heal,

And music sooth to peace.
Remembrance needs no banner'd wall,
Affection asks not lordly hall,
Whilst faithful love can joys recall
Till time's swift sands may cease.

Though keen distrust bid misers fear
To let their shining stores appear-
Though eyes that ne'er knew feeling's tear