"No hope can Aravine have now
Pawlitski's wife to prove;
For duty has impos'd a vow
Which tears me from my love.
"My father faw my tears unmov'd,
He feiz'd my trembling hand:
With stern authority reprov'd,
And laid his dread command.

"Betrothed to your deadly foe
Your Aravine now ftands!
And death alone can end my woe,
Or loose those hated bands.

"But while yet holds my breaking heart
I'll to my vow prove true;
Though doom'd for evermore to part
From joy, from love, and you."

No longer had fhe ftrength to ftand,
In fenfeless fwoon fhe fell:
But first the wav'd her fnow-white hand,
And bade a long farewell.

Pierc'd with defpair, Pawlitski mourns
Her miferable doom:

His hope's bright funfhine 's quickly turn'd.
To midnight's blackeû gloom..

Returning by the river's fide,

He heard the waters roar:
He wildly view'd the coming tide,
And faw the diftant shore.

"O Mofcua Reca! why fo clear?"
The frantic lover faid:

"Your gloffy ftream fhall be my bier,
Your bank fhall be my bed."

Was it to love, attendant fprite,
Thou didst thy charge refign?
Or took'ft thou for an angel of light
The beauteous Aravine?

Thou fly'ft too late the wretch to fave,
The deadly fin is done :

Pawlitski's plung'd beneath the wave,
His mortal race is run.

The ftream his pale corpfe homeward rolls,
His friends are gather'd near:
Indignant fwell the boorish fouls,
Nor fpare the facred bier. ›

"He must not reft in holy ground,"
Each boor in fury cried,
"Who wickedly himfelf has drown'd,
And by his own act died."

They threw him by the marfh's fide,
No honours grac'd the grave,
Which Mofcua Reca's limpid tide
Wathes with purest wave.

No flowers were ftrewn upon the dead,
Stones on his corpfe they flung:
No prieft the folemn fervice read,
No requiem was fung.

The fiends flew up to Heaven's gate

To fnatch his foul away;

But our Saint, Nicholas, knelt down ftraight,
And for his foul did pray.

At the prayers of each blefs'd faint in Heav'n,
(The Holy Virgin too,)

The lover's deadly fins forgiven,

The fiends of hell withdrew.

But ftill to purge his guilty ftains,

To expiate his crime,

He's doom'd to bear love's sharpest pains,

And grieve th' appointed time.

Near Mofcua Reca's ftream fo clear

His ghoft is often feen,

And ftill attentive feems to hear

The words of Aravine;

Or

Or frantic calls upon his love,
With wild defpair poffefs'd;
Till heavenly mercy from above
Shall bid his fpirit rest.

IMPROMPTU

ON THE DISGRACEFUL EXHIBITION OF LORD NELSON'S

REMAINS IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.

'T'

IS faid, "a living dog exceeds
A lion dead;" but they fay no
Who now enjoy the net proceeds
Of the cathedral raree-fhow !!!
Ye citizens of London town,

(Where gain is ne'er efteem'd a fault,)
How much will add to your renown
Each filling gain'd at Nelfon's vault!
Fight on, illuftrious heroes-fight!
The City will your triumphs fpread,
In hopes of having the delight

To make a how of

you when dead!!!

EPIGRAM

ON THE SAME.

BRAVE Nelfon was doubtlefs a lion in war,

With terror his enemies filling:

But now he is dead, they are fafe from his paw,
And the lion is shown for a fhilling.

THE WEATHERCOCK.-No. I.

[From the Oracle.]

Honi foit qui mal y penfe.

S. D. W.

WHO does not regard the Weathercock?—It is aftonishing how much the world is inuenced by the Weathercock!-Travellers, and those who stay at

home; voyagers, and those who never faw the ocean all, all gaze at the Weathercock!-Now, of what does a Weathercock confift?

"By throwing up a ftraw, one may eafily fee which way the wind fits"-fays the learned Selden :-ergo, a ftraw is a Weathercock.

Well! wonders will never cease! The Great Nation, after murdering fome millions of people to establith a republic, have renounced republicanifm, and bend the neck and the knee to a felf-elected defpot.The Great Nation is a national Weathercock!

"You know Mr.

?"" O yes, very

well he is a most violent patriot." He was, but he has veered about, and has a place: are not all patriots Weathercocks ?"-" You mean, when they can get places."-" Or penfions."" Lord, Sir! what is a place without a penfion?"-" True! I cry you mercy: a place without a penfion, is a Weathercock without wind."-Yes, patriots are political Weathercocks.

"A fop in the pan," fays George Alexander Stevens, "is a very ferious thing."-So is a Weathercock. I much wonder why the learned have not been more elaborate on this important fubject. But the learned cannot think of every thing.

The Church!the Royal Exchange!-my Lord's ftable-and the 'Squire's fummer-houfe-Sir, there is no end of the exhibition of the Weathercock: I mean the Weathercock artificial. And then as to the exhibition of the natural Weathercock, male and female, it is without number: why, every man you efteem, every woman you admire-a puff of ambition turns one; a puff of vanity whirls the other.-Come, now, I will adduce wonderful and ftriking inftances.

And first, I will begin with the Earl of ****: no, in compliment to the fex, I will begin with the Countefs

No,

No, no!-fair and foftly!I must first tell you who was the Inventor of the Weathercock.

And fo you really do not know who was the artist that first stuck up a Weathercock? I fufpected as much; for it is aftonishing how ignorant people are of the origin of cocks. I fuppofe you know as much of a Weather cock as of a shuttlecock. Morally confidered, they are both well worthy of investigation.

Í thall not fail hereafter to give you a very profound differtation on the shuttlecock.

Indeed, from the most recondite inquiry and laborious research, I have difcovered that an infinity of philofophical ideas are couched under every word in the English language, terminating with ck. Nay, the word philofophick itself is an inftance-I mean, according to that legitimate lexicographer, Doctor Samuel, Johnfon; for, as to your puny whipsters, who dock fo many words of the k, I cannot put their authority in competition with that of the aforefaid Doctor: indeed, they have no authority to do any fuch thing"But-the Inventor of Weathercocks?"

Have patience, Madam. Rome was not built in a day; and I must take another day to make you as wife as myself.

THE WEATHERCOCK.-No. II.

ÆOLUS.

"The ear is never tired of his praise." SHAKSPEARE.

IT is very well known, that, even in this variable climate, the Weathercock will continue at one point a confiderable time;-from minutes to hours, from hours to days. We are more particularly fenfible of this when the wind blows from the east, "neither good for man nor beaft." And it is juft as well known, that the fair creatures whom we all adore,

and