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ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE IN
I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate;
But what shall sighs avail thee? thy poor heart, 'Mid all the “ pomp and circumstance” of state,
Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start
Sad recollections of Hope's garish dream,
That shap'd a seraph form, and nam'd it Love, Its hues gay-varying, as the orient beam
Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove. To one soft accent of domestic joy,
Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch'd dome; Those plaudits, that thy public path annoy,
Alas! they tell thee-Thou’rt a wretch at home!
O then retire, and weep! Their very woes
Solace the guiltless. Drop the pearly flood On thy sweet infant, as the FULL-BLOWN rose,
Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighb'ring BUD. And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend
To lure thy wanderer from the syren's power ; Then bid your souls inseparably blend,
Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower.
$. I. COLERIDGE.
ADDRESS TO THE BRITISH CHANNEL.
BY ROBERT BLOOMEIELD.
Roll, roll thy white waves, and envelop'd in foam
Pour thy tides round the echoing shore, Thou guard of Old England, my country; nay home, And my
soul shall rejoice in the roar. Though high-fronted valour may scowl at the foe,
And with eyes of defiance advance; "Tis thou hast repellid desolation and woe,
And the conquering legions of France.
That the flow'r of her youth are in arms,
And arous’d the rough spirit that warms;
When these bills and these vallies shall feel The rush of the phalanx by phalanx o'erthrown,
And the bound of the thundering wheel.
Who can wish in his senses to prove?
All sacred to peace; and to love?
I breathe not the tones of dismay;
But may Heav'n keep the slaughter away!
Thou gem of the ocean, that smilst in thy powesi
May thy sons prove too strong to be slaves; Yet, let them not scorn in the dark-fated hour,
But exult in their rampart of waves. The nations have trembled, have cowr'd in the dust,
E'en the Alps heard the conqueror's song, When the genius of Gaul with unqueuchable thirst
Push'd her eagles resistless along.
Then sing, O my country, for joy;
To protect what the sword would destroy.
Pour thy tides round the echoing shore;
And my soul shall rejoice in the roar.
PAMSGATE, NOV. 2, 1806.
IMITATION OF MARTIAL.
COMPERE'D by death his millions to disgorge,
N. R. HALHED, ESQ.
THE USE OF POETRY.
BY MICHAEL WODHULL, ESQ.
Her track, where'er the Goddess roves,
Glory pursue, and generous Shame,
Ir, blazon'd by the Muse, Calypso's smile,
As once, in Egypt's miserable realm,
Æsop, a slave, drew from the knotted oak
Here the vile Churl, turn'd Financier, we're told,
near,” His master cried; “() quicken your career!" The half-starv'd Beast replied: “Why speed my flight? “ Come when they will, I shrink not with affright. “ Can any Foreign Lord, betide what may, “ With greater cruelty my toils repay?"
Through Greece, where Liberty's auspicious shrine Long blaz’d unsullied with a light divine, Heights more sublime behold the Muse ascend, Fair Virtue's harbinger, her Country's friend; The wreaths from Persia's vanquish'd despots torn She bore, Minerva’s altars to adorn; Her choral pomp then swelld the tragic stage, Where Pella's Bard *, t instruct the rising age, Sings his own Theseus, eloquent, and brave, Who to th’ Athenian state its pandects gave, The Sovereign People's Majesty maintain'd, Nor less by words than arms the victory gain'd: Or how the Chiefs, sprung from that dauntless Sire, Repuls'd the Herald of Eurystheus' ire, To great Alcides’ banish'd children just, And laid Mycené's Tyrant low in dust.
* Euripides. His Tragedies here alluded to are “ The Supo pliants” and “ The Children of Hercules.”