Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay ; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away; But waged with death a lasting strife, He shouted; nor his friends had failed They left their outcast mate behind, Some succour yet they could afford; The cask, the coop, the floating cord, But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he Alone could rescue them; He long survives, who lives an hour And so long he, with unspent power And ever as the minutes flew, No poet wept him but the page : Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear. And tears by bards or heroes shed, I therefore purpose not, nor dream, But misery stills delights to trace navy. ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. The Royal George was a British vessel belonging to the While she was in harbour, and undergoing some repair, with Admiral Kempenfelt and eight hundred persons, officers and men, on board, the vessel and all in it suddenly sunk, and every individual perished, September, 1782. Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! Fast by their native shore. Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land breeze shook the shrouds, Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; His sword was in his sheath ; Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred, Shall plough the wave no more. SAMUEL JOHNSON. This distinguished person is sometimes ranked among poets, though Mr. Wordsworth denies his claim to that character. Dr. Johnson was however, without question one of the most exalted moralists, and best writers of his time, and his writings are still read with admiration. Samuel Johnson was born at Litchfield, England, September 7th, 1709.—He was the son of a respectable bookseller. Johnson's early years were passed almost in poverty, but not in ignorance. From his infancy his mind was cultivated, and his scholastic education was completed at the university of Oxford. Johnson attempted the instruction of boys for a livelihood, but he was unsuccessful, and his occupation through life was that of a professional author. In his youth he was fortunate in gaining the friendship of some excellent men, and among them numbered his townsman, David Garrick—afterwards one of the most celebrated actors of any country. In company with Garrick, Johnson arrived in London in March, 1737.—"Two such candidates for fame perhaps never, before that day, entered the metropolis together," and both in their subsequent lives attained such success and reputation in their separate vocations as rarely falls to the lot of man. It belongs to a larger work than this, to detail the circumstances by which Johnson passed from poverty to competency, and from obscurity to eminence. He lived to know that his works were read, and his influence felt, wherever the English language is spoken, and even that some of his writings were translated into the other languages of Europe. Dr. Johnson died in London December, 1784, at the age of seventy-five. The English Dictionary, the Rambler, the Lives of the Poets, and many articles of criticism, and some poetry, compose Dr. Johnson's works. From the exceeding beauty and gracefulness of its style, and the elegance of its images, the story of Anningait and Ajut, is well suited to a collection of poetry, and therefore it has been extracted from the Rambler. ANNINGAIT AND AJUT. In one of the large caves to which the families of Greenland retire together, to pass the cold months, and which may be termed their villages or cities, a youth and maid, who came from different parts of the country, were so much distinguished for their beauty, that they were called by the rest of the inhabitants Anningait and Ajut, from a supposed resemblance to their ancestors of the same names, who had been transformed of old into the sun and moon. Anningait for some time heard the praises of Ajut with little emotion, but at last, by frequent interviews he became sensible of her charms, and first made a discovery of his affection, by inviting her with her parents to a feast, where he placed before Ajut the tail of a whale. Ajut seemed not much delighted by this gallantry; yet, however, from that time, was observed rarely to appear but in a vest made of the skin of a white deer; she used frequently to renew the black dye upon her bands and forehead, to adorn her sleeves with coral and shells, and to braid her hair with great exactness. s; The elegance of her dress, and the judicious disposition of her ornaments, had such an effect upon Anningait, that he could no longer be restrained from a declaration of his love. He therefore composed a poem in her praise, in which, among other heroic and tender sentiments, he protested, that "she was beautiful as the vernal willow, and fragrant as thyme upon the mountains that her fingers were white as the teeth of the morse, and her smile grateful as the dissolution of the ice; that he would pursue her, though she should pass the snows of the midland cliffs, or seek shelter in the caves of the eastern cannibals; that he would tear her from the embraces of the genius of the rocks, snatch her from the paws of Amarok, and rescue her from the ravine of Hafgufa." He concluded with a wish, that "whoever shall attempt to hinder his union with Ajut might be buried without his bow, and that, in the land of souls, his skull might serve for no other use than to catch the droppings of the starry lamps." This ode being universally applauded, it was expected that Ajut would soon yield to such fervour and accomplishments: but Ajut, with the natural haughtiness of beauty, expected all the forms of courtship; and before she would confess herself conquered the sun returned, the ice broke, and the season of labour called all to their employments. Anningait and Ajut for a time always went out in the same boat and divided whatever was caught. Anningait, in the sight of his mistress, lost no opportunity of signalizing his courage; he attacked the sea-horses on the ice, pursued the seals into the water, and leaped upon the back of the whale while he was yet struggling with the remains of life. Nor was his diligence less to accumulate all that could be necessary to make winter comfortable; he dried the roe of fishes and the flesh of seals; he entrapped deer and foxes, and dressed their skins to adorn his.bride; he feasted her with eggs from the rocks, and strewed her tent with flowers. 66 It happened that a tempest drove the fish to a distant part of the coast before Anningait had completed his store; he therefore entreated Ajut, that she would at last grant him her hand, and accompany him to that part of the country whither he was now summoned by necessity. Ajut thought him not yet entitled to such condescension, but proposed, as a trial of his constancy, that he should return at the end of summer to the cavern where their acquaintance commenced, and there expect the reward of his assiduities. "O virgin, beautiful as the sun shining on the water, consider," said Anningait, "what thou hast required.— How easily may my return be precluded by a sudden frost or unexpected fogs! Then must the night be passed without my Ajut.— We live not, my fair, in those fabled countries which lying strangers so wantonly describe; where the whole year is divided into short days and nights, where the same habitation serves for summer and winter, where they raise houses in rows above the ground, dwell together from year to year, with flocks of tame animals grazing in the fields about them; can travel at any time from one place to another, through ways enclosed with trees, or over walls raised upon the inland waters; and direct their course through wide countries by the sight of green hills or scattered buildings. Even in summer, we have no means of crossing the mountains whose snows are never dissolved; nor can remove to any distant residence, but in our boats coasting the bays. Consider, Ajut; a few summer-days, and a few winter-nights, and |