GEMS FROM THE AMERICAN POETS. JOHN SHAW, M. D. DR. SHAW was born in Maryland, in 1778, and died at sea, near the West India Islands, in 1809. He was secretary to General Eaton, at Tunis, in 1800; and in 1803 accompanied Lord Selkirk on his expedition to form a settlement on St. Louis Island in Upper Canada. A collection of his poems was published in Philadelphia in 1810. SONG. WHO has robb'd the ocean cave, Thousand charms, thy form to deck, On thy breath their fragrance borne. Nor in the circling air-a heart; WASHINGTON ALLSTON. WASHINGTON ALLSTON, A. R. A., was born in South Carolina in 1779, and died in Cambridgeport, Massachusetts, on the 8th of July, 1843. He was the greatest of the American painters. A collection of his poems was published in London in 1812. "Monaldi," his principle prose work, appeared in Boston in 1841. AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN." ALL hail! thou noble land, Our fathers' native soil! O stretch thy mighty hand, * This poem was first published in Coleridge's "Sibylline Leaves," in 1810. O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore; Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright The world o'er! The genius of our clime, From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the great sublime; While the Tritons of the deep With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine O'er the main our naval line, Though ages long have pass'd Since our fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravell'd seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ! That blood of honest fame, Which no tyranny can tame While the language free and bold How the vault of heaven rung, Ten thousand echoes greet, From rock to rock repeat While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul, Still cling around our hearts, Our joint communion breaking with the sun: The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech, "We are one!" ROSALIE. O POUR upon my soul again That sad, unearthly strain, That seems from other worlds to plain; As if some melancholy star Had mingled with her light her sighs, No-never came from aught below That makes my heart to overflow For all I see around me wears The hue of other spheres ; And something blent of smiles and tears So, at that dreamy hour of day First fell the strain of him who stole COLERIDGE. AND thou art gone most loved, most honor'd friend! Of all he loved: thy living Truths are left. |