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This, this, may fame's sublimest song
In everlasting note prolong!
O glorious end! O death of pride!
The victors for the vanquish'd died!

But be the shouts of triumph o'er;
Strike the high warbling harp no more!
And let the minstrel's measure know
No tones, but tones of martial wo!
O'er the slow undulating tide
Let only mournful musick glide,
And but the solemn-sounding oar
Awake the silence of the shore,
Let fancy to the tufted steep,

For sad, sepulchral sights retire,
Where wildly o'er the moaning deep
The mermaids tear

Their golden hair,

And fling it on the funeral pyre.

Such sorrows, to the patriot dear,

Befit a hero's bloody bier;

Such, Lawrence! to thy name be paid,

All that can greet thy gallant shade.
Oh thou, whose gen'rous arm could save
Thy fellows from an early grave,
What blessings had to him belong'd,
Who had a life like thine prolong'd?
Long on the sadden'd mind shall stay
The thought of that disastrous day,
When, with thy few brave followers round,
Thou dard'st dispute th' unequal ground,
'Till sunk beneath thy mortal wound,

♦ The extraordinary exertions of the officers and crew of the "Hornet,” after their victory over the "Peacock," for the safety and comfort of their prisoners, must be fresh in the minds of every American, and we trust, of every Briton. For obvious reasons we have not noticed our naval actions exactly in the order in which they occurred; and for reasons equally obvious, have avoided the introduction of any individual names, except of those deparfed commanders, to whom, alas! nothing bat a name remains.

Nor, then-in the recording line
Ne'er be it said-to yield was thine;
"Till reeling sense and fainting life
Withheld thee from the desp'iate strife;
Ne'er was that bloody banner down,
So lately star'd with thy renown.
Long as thy arm could wield a sword—
Long as thy lips could breathe a word,
Thy deeds, thy voice, this truth reveal'd—
That Lawrence never knew to yield!
Nought but the final enemy

Who conquers all-has conquer'd thee!

Yet still, the tributary verse
Must flow lamenting round thy hearse!
For partial Heaven in thee combin'd
The sternest with the softest mind.
Seem'd that thou wert but lent, to show
The rest of Ocean's race below,
How all the charities might blend,
Of father, brother, husband, friend:
"Till perfecting the patriot plan,
The warrior mellow'd in the man!
But hark! E'en now what tidings swell?

Last, but not least, they speed to tell
Where Burrows the invader spoil'd,
His arms, his arts, o'erpower'd and foil'd,
But in the struggle fell!

Then be it so! An end so great,
No sighs but sighs of envy wait!
What could a Roman triumph more,
Than pass'd his closing eye before
With falt'ring hand and bosom gor'd,
'Twas his to grasp a conq'ror's sword,
Like gallant Wolfe, "well satisfied,"
In that he conquer'd and he died.

Ocean, when storms of conflict o'er, Shall desolate our coasts no more; But that firm race of thine shall come To dignify a peaceful home

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O grant that race to prove them, then,
Better, as well as braver men;

Wise, to forbear, in civil life,

As bold to dare in hostile strife!
For angel-eyes, that turn afar
Abhorrent from the scenes of war,
Have yet beheld, with tears of joy,
Virtues which war could not destroy,
That, in the hot and tempting hour
Of mad Success and lawless Power,
When Av'rice, Pride, Revenge, contend,
For mastery in the buman-fund,

Could chain these furies to their den,
And make the victors more than men.
Nor solely to the chieftian free
This might of magnanimity :

Round many an humbler head it glowed→
Through many a humbler heart it flowed;
Those who, whate'er their leaders claim,
Must fall, themselves unknown to fame ;
Theirs the toil, without the praise-
The conquest theirs-but not its bays.

Then grant, great Ruler of the main,
These virtues they may long retain !
So shall thy waters ne er he viewed
Without a burst of gratitude.
So, when War's angry flame retires,
And, ling'ring, on thy bed expires;
These, tried and purified, shall rise,
And, phoenix-like, ascend the skies.




O SWEET is the glow that the golden hair'd star
At evening sheds mildly, all mingled with dews;
When, silently gleaming, the moist heams afar
Their brilliance and fragrance together diffuse.

But sweeter the smile that bewitchingly plays
Through the tremulous tear in the eye of my love,
While a blush on her cheek all unconsciously strays,
Confusedly strays, finding nought to reprove.

Soft, playful and tender, that tear-mingled smile
Seems sacred as sorrow, and cheerful as day;
Thus break forth the sunshine, enshrouded erewhile,
And laughs through the showers that it chases away.

Forgive me, my fair, if too selfish I seem,
And view thy commotion of soul with delight:
I know that thy soul, in its way-wardest dream
Is pure as the snow-flake, still soaring in flight.
And pure is the feeling those blushes declare,
The drops in those eyes nothing guilty inspir'd,
Compassionate grief was indulging him there,
And pleasure o'ertook him before he retir'd.

Full fair are the gems of the silver browed morn,
The soft glow of twilight full beauteous appears,
But beauties more radiant and melting adorn

The smile of my love through her blushes and tears.



THE gaud Tulip, that displays

Its wanten becom to the gaze,

And proudly towers on high;

Attracts me not-for, from its leaves,

(Though heaven'y dyed) no fragrance breathes,
T'embalm the vernal zephyr's sigh.

While the sweet daisy of the wild,
Meek nature's una-suming child,

I love, beyond the rose-
For every toil refreshing gale,

That sweeps along the dewy vale,

To this mild flower, its sweetness owes.

And thus, my friend, I judge the fair;

The nymph, who flauuts, with forward air,
And moves, but to be seen;

Could ne'er, from me extort one sigh,

More than the gilded butterfly;

Though she were beauty's matchless queen.

While the sweet maid, to virtue true,

That modestly retires from view,

Can all my bosom fire,

'Tis she alone can reach the heart,

And raise (beyond the power of art)

The holy flush of chaste desire.



" Nor let the beatben say, where is your God.”
IN clouds and dark'ning storms my God resides,
And on the whirlwinds wildest pinion, rides;
In heaven, on earth, in hell his power is krown,
And judgment forms the dwelling of his throne.

Lo! at his lightest touch, the mountains smoke,
And rocks are rent beneath his mildest stroke:
The ocean dries before his breath her bed,
And earth in shuddering horrour, feels his tread.

Proud Atheist, when the skies shall flee away,
Before the trumpet of the final day;

When earth shall burn beneath his angry eye,

And suns, and spheres, shall from their orbits fly;

When from on high the pomp of heaven shall break,

And from beneath, shall ope the penal lake;

'Mid all the terrours that you then must dare,

"Where is your God?" Proud sceptic fool declare.


ERRATA.-1st page, 14th line from bottom, for protracted read prostrated.

Page 25, line 2d from top, for and read et.

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