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“ When will bis canoe, Ontario,

“ Scud along thy filvery tide ?
" When wilt thou, belov'd Oneyo!

“ In thy native soil reside ?
Long hath mighty Areskoui *

“ Made thy breast with anger (well,
" And Quintuno's snow-capt mountains

“ Echoed with thy warlike yell.
« Can it glad me, when the English

“ Fall beneath thy quivering spear: -
“ Į myself was born a Briton,

“ And the English name revere,
« Sweet to me is yon Savannah,

“ With perennial flowers array'd ;
“ Sweet my grot, where pendant branches

" Form an intermingling shade.
Sweet yon wood, whence plumy songsters,

“ Liquid notes at distance Twell;
“ Sweet my cottage, where contentment,

« Gentle goddess, loves to dwell.
« But not c'en yon wide Savannah,

« Nor my grotto, cool retreat,
6 Verdant wood, nor tranquil cottage,

“ Are without thy presence sweet.
« Dearest lord of my affections !

“ Ceale, Oneyo, cease to roam; “ Oye calm pellucid waters !

“ Bring the gallant chieftain home.” Lynn, July, 1798.


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TO THE NIGHTINGALE. WEET plaintive minstrel ! welcome to my bow'r,

Come dwell with me my cypress groves amung, When I retire oppress’d by grief's stern pow'r,

In strains pathetic pour the soul of song. * Areskoui, or the god of war, is revered as the great God of When care, with cank’ring tooth, my breast invades,

the Indians.


'Tis thine the turbid passion to disarm ; Come then, sweet warbler, to my peaceful Mhades,

And lull my bosom to a heav'nly calm. E'on now I hear thy lucid note divine,

Which to mine car a gentle zephyr brings, And thro' the vale melodious music Aings;

Hail then thou fav’rite of the tuneful nine ! With thee I'll join, and send my voice above, Where all is harmony, where all is love! Lynn.






For husbands their voices resound."

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COU will excuse the length of time*

Which pass'd since we receiv'd your rhyme,
Betore that any did essay
To answer you in your own way.
I own, I read your letter o'er,
And might as well have writ before,
But thought myself was unconcern’d;
So filent was, until I learn'd
That some of our young female friends,
Desir'd you should be made amends,
For all the pains you had been at,
And I could not deny them that.

I therefore took my pen in hand,
And give you now to understand,
That whate'er might be your aim,
You little have incur'd but blame.
* About two months, or nearly.

'Tis not your measure* gives offence,
But this ihey deem impertinence,
That you should tell them quite so plain,
They husbands so much wish to gain;
Muft we," say they, “ such insults bear?
“ So grating to our cars to hear !
“ Injurious man! your proof produce,
« Or load us not with such abuse ;
“ 'Gainst us a paltry charge you've brought,
« Of what we ne'er conceiv'd in thought.”
Sir, had these thoughts occur'd to you,
And when your piece you did review,

you left out that faulty clause,
You might have met with more applause;
At least if you had not been prais'd,
You would have no resentment rais'd;
All other faults might be look'd by,
Or scan'd not with a critic's cyc,
But this alone appears so vile,
That 'twould the best production spoil.

Now, Sir, I've finish'd my desig»),
Have told the truth in every line,
I hope na part will you offend,
Think not that I could so intend;
My only aim was those to please,
Wham what you said, did so much tcaze,
And if I can accomplish this,
My time may not be spent amiss ;
I know full well my parts are small,
Nor suited to this end at all,
Yet trusting none will this condemn,
Submit it now to you and them.

Your humble servant,

R. A. * The Gentleman had apologised for having paid no regard

to measure in his lines.




To **** ******.


VINCE last I made an effort weak, and faint,

To answer what had caus’d such great complaint
In your poetic lines ; have read some more,
Which not much better pleas'd than those before :
Your thought's too soaring, vent’ring far too high,
Where nature ne'er bestow'd the pow'r to fly.
But here with caution let me speak, I know
My own abilitics are mean and low;
Then let me not those heights attempt to gain,
Where pride attends success, but failing ends in pain,

You'll think perhaps your readers too severe,
Ascribing faults, where none to you appear :
Reflect again; in some sedater hour,
When warm imagination's lust her pow'r;
When judgment reigns supreme, and in your soul
Does all inferior faculties controul ;
See then, if those your lare attempts can meet
The approbation of yourself complete:
Your last shall now engage attention due,
Nor would we fail in just respect for you,
But friendly dictates move us to declare,
And let you see how great your crrors are,

When you in verse address Clarinda fair,
And talk of wand'ring thro' the liquid air,
“ Thro' mazy wilds, to duteous paths,” you'll find,
If you reflect, your judgment's left behind;
Without its aid you“ wing your myftic way,”
And doubtless this has caus'd you so to stray :
Your periods seem without a meaning writ,
When most you aim at ornament and wit;
Or if you some exalted sense intend,
Dull souls like us cannot it comprehend.
You thus proceed: “ Fair friendship’s sacred hand
2. I must obtain, or quit my native land.”

A youth in love, despairing to succeed,
Who should in terms like this be led to plead,
Might be excus’d; but here we cannot see
What can excuse you in the least degree;
Such language us’d to reconcile two friends,
Is fulsome, tiresome, does not suit such ends.
What follows next is so much like the last,
Or rather worse, that here it shall be past.
But here again we pause ; you had before
Said, “ Husbands gain’d, they wish for nothing more."
This to atone for in your aukward way,
Induc'd you, when you wrote again, to say,
“ If Hymen's happy Irine unpleasing grates thy ear,
“ O fly, my belov'd Clarinda, its baneful fear.”
And can there then no medium be between
These two extremes? or can there none be seen ?
Nothing I think can much more obvious be,
Than that there is, at least there is to me :
Useless advice I think it muit appear,
Believe me, sir, there's no such " baneful fear.”
But last of all, the “antiquated brass,”
For which you urge your suit to the “ fair lass,"
Should be consider'd: so much warmth before,
Would make us think your end was something more
Than worn-out brass to gain ; a worthless prize!
As dust, or chaff, before the wind that flies !
Must we believe this brass to be the whole,
Which needful was to “ cheer your fainting foul "
Indeed by all that we receiv'd from you,
It seems the object chiefly in your view;
And that you may this worthless prize obtain,
You with “ fair friendship’s facred hand” to gain.
I'm here, perhaps, too harih, but you must own,
There's ground sufficient if your letter's known.

I have, at length, perform’d my painful talk;
Which when you read, methinks, I hear you ask,
“ Why all this cenfure so severe on me?
“ I never wrote, nur gave offence to thee:"
All this I freely own; but by request
I first began, and now have done my beft;
Have shown at large what I conceiy'd to be

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