men, are fubject to the laws of honour.-Alfred every moment awaked Ethelbert, to speak again of the beauteous maid.

first fuffer a hundred deaths-my whole family fhould perifh with me.* The eyes of a vigilant father were not deceived: Alfred indeed loved, moft paffionately loved one of his Early in the morning á fervant atdaughters. It may be fuppofed that tends at the King's apartment, and Ethelwitha was the enchanting ob- requests to know whether he could ject, that had infpired the Prince be feen. Who would enter at this with the most violent paffion hour? anfwered the Monarch, with • Ethelbert, my friend, it is not a fome peevishness, I, my Lord,' mortal-it is an angel of beauty, in- exclaimed a voice, that Alfred foon nocence, and modefty, that we have recollected, and he was inftantly feen! Did not you obferve her? ftruck with the appearance of Alba. What joy, what intoxicating tran- nac, holding a drawn fword in one fports, must be his who can obtain hand, and with the other leading his the first figh from this young and in- three daughters, who were in deep genuous heart l'— mourning, and in the attitude of the moft poignant grief.

Yes, my Lord, I faw, I was fmitten with fuch a blaze of charms! Never before had Nature formed fuch a paragon of perfection! How feductive her voice! How!

• Speak, my dear Ethelbert, fpeak all the flames of love-I am confumed by them-whatever it coft me, I muft, I must be happy-Could he but love me.'

Can you doubt, my Lord, whether she will meet your tendernefs? King as well as lover, a hero crowned with laurels, of an age formed to infpire a mutual ardour, in a thoufand refpects you may be certain of fuccefs.

In the language of Ethelbert we perceive the artful complaifance of a Courtier, who, inftead of flattering the errors of his Mafter, ought rather to have made him fenfible of his culpable weakness, and to have reprefented to him, that he would violate the laws of hofpitality, if he fubmitted to the fuggeftions of an unbecoming paffion, and that Kings, like other

What do I fee!' exclaimed the

King.

A father, whofe honour is dearer to him than life itfelf. My motive for this intrufion I can foon explain. You are a King, and I am your fubject, but not your flave. You must be fenfible from what an illustrious houfe I am defcended; and it now becomes me to speak my sentiments. I may poffibly be deceived; but I thought, last night, that I faw a particular attention to my daughters. If you have conceived the idea of difhonouring my family, this fword fhall inftantly prevent my fhame-I will plunge it into the bosom of these unfortunate, but willing victims. But if a pure and honourable flame be kindled in your breaft; if an alliance with my houfe be not deemed unworthy of royalty-choofe-name her whom you would wish to honour.'

Alfred was for a moment filent; but foon addreffing himself to Albanac, with that magnanimity that dif played

kind

* To justify the apprehenfions of Albanac, it must be observed, that in those times, even the most devout Monarchs seldom made any fcruple to have concubines, exclufive of their wife. It is true that they were regarded as a of fecond wives; but they did not enjoy the confideration, rights, or honours of the wife, who, being the only one effeemed legitimate, was the only one thas bore the name and title of her husband.

played his exalted foul: Noble Albanac, you recal Alfred to himfelf I might have gone aftray; but you teach me my duty, and I will obey its dictates. My choice is fixed. Beautiful Ethelwitha,* here is my hand-can you accept it? With pleafure I place my crown upon your head-I feat Virtue and Beauty upon my throne.'

Ethelwitha throws herself at the King's feet: he raises, he embraces her with tranfport; he embraces Albanac. Your virtuous courage well deferves a recompence-I glory in having the most respectable man in

my dominions for my father-in-law." Ethelwitha is publicly proclaimed Queen; nor did fhe wait till the nuptial ceremony was over, to confefs, with a charming frankness, to the enraptured Monarch, that she had given her heart to him the very moment he had entered her father's house. What a delightful confeffion was this for fuch a paffionate lover! It was far from tending to diminish their mutual felicity; for the happy Pair long participated in the glory of one of the nobleft reigns of which England can be proud.+

[Univ. Mag.

*This is that Ethelwitha who accompanied Alfred to his retreat in the ifle of Athelney, when he had taken refuge there, till he could again make war against the Danes. To fuch extremities were the good King and his family reduced, that one day they were on the point of feeling all the horrors of famine. There was nothing in the tent but a fingle loaf for the royal family and their attendants. A poor pilgrim appeared; he was expiring, he said, with hunger: Alfred inflantly gave him half of the loaf. The Queen objecting to this act of charity, in their own deplorable circumftances: My dear friend,' faid Alfred, of what are you apprehenfive? He who made five loaves and five fifbes fufficient for the wants of five thousand fouls, can certainly render this half of a loaf fufficient for ours.

A fine painting of this affecting proof of the fenfibility and humanity of Alfred, is now in the Hall of the Worshipful Company of Stationers.

Alfred had by his wife Ethelwitha, the daughter of a Mercian Earl, three fons and three daughters. The eldest fon, Edmund, died without iffue in his father's life-time. The third, Ethelward, inherited his father's passion for letters, and lived a private life. The fecond, Edward, fucceeded in bis power; and paffes by the appellation of Edward the Elder, being the first of that name who fat on the English Throne.' HUME.

AT

For the NEW-YORK MAGAZINE.
YANKEY IS M.

T the battle of Danbury, a New-England foldier feated himfelf upon a fence, within gunhot of the British, and from thence fired thirty-two charges at them, without being touched by a fingle one of the many bullets aimed at him. When he found his ammunition fpent, he difmounted in hafte, and

holding up his open cartouch-box to
the enemy, to fhew its emptiness, he
precipitately fled, repeating aloud as
he ran thefe very pertinent lines:—

"He that fights and runs away,
"May live to fight another day;
"But he that is in battle flain
"Shall never live to fight again."

The

ORIGINAL POETRY.

WH

TO THE MOON.

HILE wand'ring through the dark blue vault of heav'n,
Thy trackless steps purfue their filent way,

And from among the ftarry hoft of ev❜n,

Thou shed'ft o'er flumbering earth a milder day;
And when thou pour'ft abroad thy fhadowy light
Acrofs the ridgy circles of the ftream,
With raptur'd eyes, O changeful nymph of night!
I gaze upon thy beam.

GREAT was the hand that form'd thy round, O Moon!
That mark'd the precincts of thy steady wheel,
That bade thee fmile on Night's oblivious noon,

And rule old Ocean's folemn fwell:

GREAT was the POWER, that fill'd with radiant light
Those Worlds unnumber'd, which from pole to pole
Hang out their golden lamps to deck thy flight,
Or gild the Planets which around thee roll.

From Realms of Love, beyond where moves the Sun,
Whose distant beams create our brightest day,
Beyond where Stars their ceaseless circles run,
Or lurid Night emits his opaque ray;
Mounted on the dark'ning storm,

On the ftrong whirlwind's ragged pinnions borne,
With glory circumfus'd, the SOURCE of BLISS
Sublime, came flying o'er the vast abyss.

His voice was heard-in dire dismay
The fhades of Darkness fled away,

While bursting waves of Light the flight beheld,
And all the spacious void triumphant fill'd.
Without delay, this rolling ball
Uprofe, obedient to his call;

But that he spake it into light,
It still had flumber'd in eternal night:

The mountains rear'd their verdant head,
The bills their deftin'd places found,
And as the fountains pour'd their waters round,
Ocean fubmiffive wander'd to her bed;
The Sun arofe-with beam benign he shone,
And terra cheer'd with fplendours all his own.

"Go

"Go gild the morn," his maker faid,
Impatient to obey,

O'er half the globe his rays he fpread,
And blaz'd along the day.

Then waft thou form'd with all the starry train
That decorate the ev'ning skies;

Some made to travel through the faphire plain,
And fome forbid to set or rise.

Long haft thou reign'd, and from thine amber throne,
The various changes of this world haft known;
Haft feen its miriads into being rife,

Shine their fhort hour, and then their life refign;

New generations feize the fickle prize,

And like their fires, but ftrengthen to decline:

Yet be not vain, (though fince thy natal day,

Some thousand years their circling courfe have made)
For lo! the ara haftens on apace,

When all thy glory fhall for ever fade.
Earth fhall the revolution feel,

The change of feasons shall be o'er,
Time fhall forget to guide his wheel,

And thou, O Moon, fhalt fet to rife no more!
New-Yock, April 4, 1792.

Sacred to the Memory of PHYLURA.

ADIEU, each brighter, happier day,

No intervening cloud that knew,
When once I trod the flow'ry way
Where opening joys profufely grew.
Of all the earth-born blifs we know,
Of all the joys that muft decay,
'Tis only granted here below,

To fee them bud, then die away.
For ah! now (wells the flood of care;
My earthly all, my comfort's fled;
Phylura, faireft of the fair,

With all that's good and lovely's dead. The flow'r, the pride of blooming fpring,

But faintly op'd her native grace;
When fhe attun'd her voice to fing,
In filence fat the feather'd race.

In her both youth and age were join'd,
To raife in all a pure delight;
Her living virtues warm'd the mind,
Her glowing beauties charm'd the
fight:

ELLA,

And now, impatient of the sky,
She's gone to hail her native home;
Faith wing'd her foul for feats on high,
Hope gave her body to the tomb.
No more for me the fmiling morn,
Beaming with foul-enliv'ning ray,
Awakes, the world to re-adorn,

One irkfome, dreary night I find,
And chace the glooms of night away.
Since fhunn'd my only joy the light,
No beam benign can cheer my mind,
Oft as the evening fhades return,
Since he's no more to bless my fight.

To yonder tomb I penfive stray,
Embrace my bleft Phylura's urn,
And there my constant tribute pay.
Accept the tributary tear,

So justly due to thee, dear fhade; My grief for thee shall be fincere, Till I'm like thee in filence laid. New-York, 1792.

ARIBERT.

The

WHE

The PLEASURES of FANCY.

HERE'ER capricious Fancy
ftrays,
Whether thro' Pleafure's airy maze,
Or loft in labyrinths of woe,
Compels the ready tear to flow;
Whether the climbs th' etherial height
And vifits worldsconceal'd from fight,
Or croffing o'er old Ocean's breast
Becomes to diftant climes a queft;
Whether the treads enamell'à fields,
Or counts the riches Autumn yields,
Or fhivers at the wintry blaft,
Or fighs that Summer's joys are past;
Whether the culls Parnaffian flow'rs,
Or wanders thro' Arabia's bow'rs,
Or tafting Lethe's favour'd stream,

Finds forrow but an empty dream;
Still led by her, the captive mind,
To unfubftantial blifs refign'd,
Fondly pursues her mystic flight
To feek chimerical delight;
Enraptur'd views with glad furprise,
A thoufand fparkling joys arife,
Seizes the good the moment gives,
Tho' fcarce it with that moment lives;
Nor can the foft enchanted fcenes
forego

Till wak'd by keener calls-from
prefent woe.

CALISTA. New-York, April 12, 1792.

SELECTED POETRY.

ODE to the NIGHTINGALE, by Mrs. ROBINSON.-If this is not ANNA
MATILDA, he has at least borrowed her lyre.

"From her alone fuch dulcet notes can flow-
"She only knows adroitly thus to trill."

WEET Bird of Sorrow!-why
complain.

SWE

In fuch foft melo ly of Song,
That Echo, am'rous of thy ftrain,
The ling ring cadenc e doth prolong?
Ah! tell me, tell me, why,
Thy dulcet notes afcend the sky,
Or on the filmy vapour's glide
Along the misty mount ain's fide!
And wherefore doft thou love to dwell
In the dark wood and moi 's-grown cell,
Befide the willow margin?'d stream-
Why doft thou court w. in Cynthia's

beam?

Sweet Songftrefs, if thy w ayward fate
Hath robb'dThee of thy bo fom's mate,
Oh, think not thy heart-pies cing moan
Evap'rates on the breezy 7 air,
Or that the plaintive fon of Care
Steals from thy widow'd Bre aft alone.
Oft have I heard thy mourn ful Tale,
On the high Cliff, that o'er the Vale

E.

Hangs its dark brow, whose awful
fhade

Spreads a deep gloom along the glade:
Led by its found, I've wander'd far
Till crimfon evening's flaming Star,
On Heav'n's vait dome refulgent hung
And round etherial vapours flung;
And oft I've fought th' HygeianMaid,
In rofy dimpling fmiles array'd,
Till forc'd with every Hope to part,
Refiftlefs Pain fubdued my Heart.
Oh then, far o'er the reftlefs deep

Forlorn my poignant pangs I bore,
Alone in foreign realms to weep,

I

Where Envy's voice could taunt no

more.

hop'd, by mingling with the gay,
To fnatch the veil of grief away,
To break Affliction's pond'rous chain;
I hoped amid the joyous train
Vain was the Hope-in vain I fought

The