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“ No hope can Aravine have now

Pawlitski's wife to prove; For duty has impos'd a vow Which tears ine from

my

love. My father saw my tears unmov'd, He seiz'd my trembling hand: With stern authority reprov'd,

And laid his dread command. « Betrothed to your deadly foe

Your Aravine now stands!
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 ;
Thorigh doom'd for everinore to pare

From joỳ, from love, and you."
No longer had lie strength to ständ,

In senseless swoon the fell:
But first she wav'd her fuow-white hand,

And bade a long farewell.
Pierc'd with despair, Pawlitski mourns

Her miserable doom:
His hope's bright sunshine's quickly turn'd.

To midnight's blackel glooin,
Returning by the river's fide,

He heard the waters roar :
He wildly view'd the coming tide,

And saw the distant shore.
O Moscua Reca! why so clear ?"

The frantic lover said: :46 Your glossy stream thall be my bier,

Your bank shall be my bed,"
Was it to love, attendant sprite,

Thou didst thy charge resign?
Or took'st thou for an angel of light

The beauteous Aravine?

C 5

Thou

Thou fly'st too late the wretch to save,

The deadly fin is done :
Pawlitski's plung'd beneath the wave,

His mortal race is run.
The stream bis pale corpse homeward rolls,

His friends are gather'd near:
Indignant swell the boorish fouls,

Nor spare the sacred bier. “ He must not rest in holy ground,”

Each boor in fury cried,
“ Who wickedly himself has drown'd,

And by his own act died.”
They threw him by the marsh's fide,

No honours grac'd the grave,
Which Mofcua Reca's limpid tide

Wathes with purest wave.
No flowers were strewn upon the dead,

Stones on his corpse they flung:
No priest the folemn service read,

No requiem was sung.
The fiends flew up to Heaven's gate

To snatch his soul away;
But our Saint, Nicholas, kuelt down straight,

And for his soul did pray.
At the prayers of each bless'd saint in Heav'n,

(The Holy Virgin too,)
The lover's deadly fins forgiven,

The fiends of hell withdrew.
But still to purge his guilty stains,

To expiate his crime,
He's doom'd to bear love's sharpest pains,

And grieve th' appointed time.
Near Moscua Reca's stream so clear

His ghost is often feen,
And still attentive seems to hear

The words of Aravine;

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Or frantic calls upon his love,

With wild despair possess'd;
Till heavenly mercy from above

Shall bid his spirit reft.

IMPROMPTU ON THE DISGRACEFUL EXHIBITION OF LORD NELSON'S

REMAINS IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL. 'T"

TS faid, " a living dog exceeds

A lion dead ;' hut they say no
Who now enjoy the net proceeds

of the cathedral raree-Show !!!
Ye citizens of London town,

(Where gain is ne'er esteem'd a fault,) How much will add to

your renown
Each Milling gain'd at Nelfon's vault!
Fight on, illustrious heroes—fight!

The City will your triumphs spread,
In hopes of having the delight

To make a Jhow of you when dead !!!

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BRA
RAVE Nelson was doubtless a lion in war,

With terror his enemies filling;
But now he is dead, they are safe from his

paw,
And the lion is Mown for a Jhilling.

S. D. W.

THE WEATHERCOCK.--Nó. 1.

[From the Oracle.]

Honi soit qui mal y pense. WHO

THO does not regard the Weathercock ?-It is

aftonilhing how much the world is inåuenced by the Weathercock !_Travellers, and those who stay at

home;

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home ; voyagers, and those who never saw the ocean all, all gaze at ihe Weather cock !-Now, of what does a Weather cock confift?

“ By throwing up a straw, one may easily see which way the wind fits"-says the learned Selden:

:ergo, a straw is a Weathercock.

Well! wonders will never cease! The Great Na. tion, after murdering some millions of people to esta. blith a republic, have renounced republicanism, and bend the neck and the knee to a self-elected despot. The Great Nation is a national Wealbercock! You know Mr.

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

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

The Church!--the Ro;.! Exchange!--my Lord's fiable—and the 'Squire's summer-house-Sir, there is no end of the exhibition of the Weaticcrcock: 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 eiteem, every woman you admire-a puf of ambition turns one; a puff of vanity whirls the other.-Come, now, I will adduce wonderful and striking instances.

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

No,

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

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

I thall not fail hereafter to give you a very profound dissertation on the shuttlecock.

Indeed, froin the most recondite inquiry and laborious research, I have discovered that an infinity of philosophical ideas are couched under every word in the English language, terminating with ck. Nay, the word philofophick itself is an instance-I mean, accord. ing to that legitimate lexicographer, Doctor Samuel Johnson; for, as to your puny whipsters, who dock so many words of the k, I cannot put their authority in competition with that of the aforesaid Doctor : indeed, they have no authority to do any such thing

“ But-ihe Inventor of Weathercocks?" Have patience, Madam. Rome was not built in a day; and I must take another day to make you as wise as myself.

ÆOLUS.

THE WEATHERCOCK-No. II. “ The ear is never tired of his praise."! SHAKSPEARE. IT T is very well known, thai, even in this variable

climate, the Weathercock will continue at one point a considerable time ;--from minutes to hours, from hours to days. We are more particularly sensible of this when the wind blows from the east,

76 neither good for man nor beast.” And it is just as well known, that the fair creatures whom we all adore,

and

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