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O! where'er thy voice be try'd,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or Winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over Time,
Redress the rigours of the inclement clime;
Aid slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain:
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain.-GOLDSMITH.


I send you the following stanzas, in gratitude for the pleasure some of your fugitive Port Folios have afforded me; I am not a poet, but only a poor soldier. But, amid my military cares, I find some leisure for scribbling; a habit, which you may encourage, or not, as you please. If you insert the subsequent poem, please to forward to me one, or two copies; and, when we take Canada, or South America, I will become one of your most munificent patrons.

I am respectfully yours,



Written on my recovery from procrastinated indisposition.

Jor's ecstatic blush returns;
Again my blood with ardour burns

From thy inspiring smile:
O Health! Thy form the bloom of Heaven,
And power, by Jove to thee were given

Our sorrows to beguile.
While beauty charms, or love can bind,
The vagrant sense, and truant mind,

Thy power shall man adore;
And lovely woman, prone to sigh,
Shall smile most sweet, when thou art nigh,

And Eden's bliss restore!

Health's soft suffusion of our frame,

Its rosy mantling on the face;
Joy's thrilling pulse, and love's bright flame;

The glow of genius, step of grace;
'Tis thine, BLEST POWER! alone to give;
To banish pain, and bid us live.

The ethereal spark, which God has given,
To light our fragile steps to Heaven,

Our bosoms to possess;
Receives from Thee th' enkindling glow,
Which warms and brightens all below,

Of human happiness.

Who worships Thee, and would be blest,
With joy, must list thy high behest,

And rigidly obey:
" Thy various powers of form and mind,
« Employ, as NATURE has design'd,

6. Through each revolving day.

Yield not to Indolence, or Fear;

“ Shun Syren Vice, and all her charms;
« The GREAT FIRST CAUSE, with love, revere,

“ And press THY PARTNER to thy arms.
" Then shall my roses flush thy face,
“ Till silvery locks shall shade its grace."

ALEXIS Sacket's Harbour, Lake Ontario,

December 13th, 1808.



To view thy wonders, Rome, I used to sigh,
To breathe beneath thy pure transparent sky,
Thy pictures, statues, lofty domes to see,
And own thy far-spread fame surpass'd in thee;
Till late, invited by the Woodland's shades,
I stray'd among its green, embower'd glades,
Where bright the wave of winding Schuylkill glides,
And Peace, with Hamilton and Taste, resides.

Rear'd by his care, unnumber'd balmy sweets,
The gladden'd eye in gay confusion meets.
The flow'ry treasures of each distant land,
Collected, cherish'd by his fostering hand;
And all the produce of the varying year,
Profusely scattered at his wish appear.

Led on by Fancy's secret, magic call,
I reach the mansion, I ascend the hall;
What fairy forms I see around me rise!
What charms, what beauties strike my raptur'd eyes!
On every side, the living canvas speaks;
A god pursues, the flying maiden shrieks;
Or Night,* with starry robe and silver bow,
Sheds her mild lustre on the calm below.

Then, while within the Woodland's fair domain,
The Muses rove, and Classic pleasures reign;
For distant climes no longer will I sigh,
No longer wish to distant realms to fly;
But often seek these charming, verdant glades,
But often wander in these fragrant shades;
Oft mark the place, where litile Naiads mourn,
With ceaseless sighs, around their Shenstone's urn;
Where bright the wave of winding Schuylkill glides,
And Peace, with Hamilton and Taste, resides.




Yes, lovely maid, thy truant sigh

Has reached i hy Henri's faithful breast;
And treasured there, shall ever lie,

Te sooth his troubled soul to rest.

And could'st thou think, within that soul,

The “ tender passion” lulled to sleep?
No, scorning reason's stern control,

It wak’d, but only wak'd to weep.

Yet vain thy wish, too charming maid,

To call thy lovely wanderer home;
Ten thousand for that one I've paid,

And hence, no, never shall it roam.

* The picture of Night, is one of the most beautiful in the Collection:



Byt press'd upon this bleeding heart,

Which long with dark despair hath strove;
A soy'reign balm it shall impart,
Assurance of my Stella's love.




Though some who prate of love's combustion,
But deal in travesty and fustian,

Because it is the fashion ;
Cupid at me of late let drive,
And, Oh! I'm terrified alive,

By love's volcanic passion.

No other work of Nature's hand,
No fabled nymph of fairy land,

No vision of the fancy,
Nothing in heaven or earth or air,
Is half a hundredth part so fair,

As my dear little Nancy.

With her the Graces and the Nine,
And all that poets call divine,

Can challenge no comparisons;
But Venus, Hebe and the rest,
With more than mortal beauty blest,

Would seem a set of Saracens.

When Nature form’d the nymph so neat,
The matchless maiden more complete,

Than ever eye beheld:
Dame Venus like a vixen bold,
Impellid by Envy broke the mold,

To see herself excell'd.

And I would turn, with all my heart,
A Mussulman like Bonaparte,

If Mahomet had one such; Would scale his walls of paradise, Or break the gate down in a trice; But Mahomet has none such.



The wind howl'd o'er the snowy plain,
And whistled through the window pane,

And aged leafless tree;
In whirling drifts on Logan's hill,
The feathery flakes were falling still,
And frost had closed the wimpling rill,

That swept round village G.
The villagers, a simple train,
Commenced their winter work again,

The woodman told his tale ;
The harvest of the summer bland,
Now felt the force of Toilman's hand,

In the descending flail
Around our cheerful, blazing fire,
Did Bayley's song our hearts inspire,
Or Bensel strike the Muse's lyre,

How merrily we sat ;
The fleeting hours were gayly spent,
Each joy-tun'd feature beam'd content,
For all was mirth and merriment,

And sweet domestic chat.
The cold north-east might keener blow,
Whirling aloft the drifty snow,
And frozen rivulet cease to flow,

In icy-fetters bound;
We heeded not the chilly air,
For smiling friendship crown'd us there,

And wit went flashing round.
When o'er the deep blue vault of heaven,
Majestic rose the star of even,

With silver-tinged ray;

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