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Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command. Regions, Cæsar never knew,

Thy pofterity shall sway,
Where his eagles never few,

None invincible as they.
Such the bard's prophetic words,

Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he sweeps the chords

Of his sweet, but awful lyre. She with all a monarch's pride,

Felt them in her bofom glow, Rulh'd to battle, fought and died,

Dying, huri'd them at the foe.
Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heav'n awards the vengeance due,
Empire is on us bestow'd,
Shame and ruin wait for you.


Written in a Time of Affliction. OH, happy thades-o me unbleft!

Friendly to peace, but not to me! How ill the scene that offers rest,

And heart that cannot reft, agree! This glassy stream, that spreading pine,

Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze, Might soothe a foul less hurt than mine,

And please, if any thing could .please,

But fix'd unalterable care

Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness e.v'ry where,

And Nights the season and the scene. For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,

While peace posless'd these filent bow'rs, Her animating smile withdrawn,

Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs. The faint or moralift should tread

This moll-grown alley, muling, Now; They seek, like me, the secret lade,

But not, like me, to nourish woe! Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste

Alike admonish not to ream; These tell me of enjoyments past,

And those of sorrows yet to come.

· THE ROSE. THE Rose had been wash'd, just walh'd in a show's,

Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flow'r,

And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,

And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret

On the flourishing bush were it grew.
I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was

For a nosegay, so dripping and drowad,

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!

I snapp'd it-it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitilefs part

Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart

Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant Rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile !
And the tear that is wip'd with a lit:le address,

May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.

The Duchess of Devonshire.


Mount St. Gothard is a Mountain of the Alps, and one of the

highest in Switzerland; said by some to be 17,000 Feet above the Level of the Sea, though others say it does not exceed 10,000. Y E plains, where three-fold harvests press the

Ye climes, where genial gales incessant (well,
Where art and nature shed profusely round

Their rival wonders--Italy, farewel.
Still may thy year in fullest splendor shine!..,

Its icy darts in vain may winter throw :

To thee, a parent, fister, I consign,

And wing'd with health, I woo thy gales to blow. Yet pleas’d, Helvetia’s rugged brows I fee,

And thro' their craggy steeps delighted roam ; Pleas'd with a people, honest, brave, and free,

Whilst every step conducts me nearer home. I wander where Tehno madly flows,

From cliff to cliff in foaming eddies tost; On the rude mountain's barren breast he rose,

in Po's broad wave now hurries to be loft. His shores, neat huts and verdant pastures fill,

And hills, where woods of pine the forms defy ; While, fcorning vegetation, higher still,'

Rise the bare rocks co-eval with the sky. Upon his banks a favour'd spot I found,

Where hade and beauty tempted to repose : Within a grove, by mountains circled round,

By rocks o'erhung, my rustic seat I chose. Advancing thence, by gentle pace and flow,

Unconscious of the way my footsteps prest, Sudden, supported by the hills below,

St. Gothard's summit rose above the rest. 'Midft towering cliffs, and tracks of endless cold,

Th'industrious path pervades the rugged stone, And seems Helvetia, let thy toils be told

A granite girdle o'er the mountain thrown. No haunt of man the weary traveller greets,

No vegetation smiles upon the moor, Save where the flow'ret breathes uncultur'd sweets,

Sawe where the patient Monk receives the poor.



Yet let not these rude paths be coldly trac'd,

Let not there wilds with liftless steps be trod, Here fragrance (corns not to perfume the waste,

Here Charity uplifts the mind to God, His humble board the holy man prepares,

And limple food, and wholesome lore bestows, Extols the treasures that his mountain bears,

And paints the perils of impending snows. For whilft bleak winter numbs with chilling hand,

Where frequent crosses mark the traveller's fate, In Now, procession moves the merchant band,

And filent bends, where tottering ruins wait. Yet ʼmidst those ridges, 'midst that drifted fnow,

Can Nature deign her wonders to display ; Here Adularia (hines with vivid glow,

And gems of chrystal sparkle to the day. Here too, the hoary mountain's brow to grace,

Five filver lakes, in tranquil Atate are seen; While from their waters, many a stream we trace,

That 'scap'd from bondage, roll the rocks between, Here flows the Reuss to seek her wedded love,

And, with the Rhine, Germanic climes explore; Her stream I mark'd, and faw her wildly move

Down the bleak mountain, thro' the craggy shore. My weary footsteps hop'd for rest in vain,

For steep on steep, in rude confusion rose; At length I paus'd above a fertile plain

That promis’d shelter and foretold repose. . ' Fair runs the streamlet o'er the pasture green,

Its margin gay, with Aocks and cattle spread ;

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