Puslapio vaizdai

Where winter's gloom was never known,
Nor fell disease's hollow groan;

Where grief, deceit, despair and woe
Dare not their forms of horror show,


Lady, was placed thy destined lot—
But fate, that destiny forgot;
Or, envious of thy blissful state,
Some fiend of earth, and earthly hate,
Gave thee to pain and sorrow here-
Betrayed thee to this world of care.

TO ***

In apology for neglecting an invitation to renew a long interrupted acquaintance.


I CANNOT, for my soul forget,

That thou art young and blooming yet;

I cannot, for my soul, expose

My heart to love's returning woes;
I cannot view a smile of thine,
Without suppressing all of mine.
O then forgive the long delay,
That coldly keeps a friend away—

Yet-friend, alas, I cannot be,

While beauty dwells so sweet with thee.

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But drive the alluring charms away,
That round thy form seductive play;
Quench the soft brilliance of thy eyes,
And stain thy cheeks' luxuriant dyes;
Obscure thy neck, divinely fair,
And spoil the hyacinths of thy hair; '
And then I--yet I soon should find
More brilliant beauties in thy mind;
O then forgive the long delay, o
That coldly keeps a friend away—
Yet-friend, alas, I cannot be,

While genius dwells so bright with thee.



QUANDO il gran Scipio dall' ingrata terra Che gli fu patria, e il cener suo non ebbe, Esule egregio, si partia qual debbe

Uom, che in suo cor maschio valor rinserra;

The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair.


Quei, che seco pugnando andar sotterra,
Ombre famose, onde si Italia crebbe,
Arser di sdegno, e il duro esemplo increbbe

Ai genj della pace, e della guerra.

E seguirlo fur viste in atto altero,
Sull' indegna fremendo offesa atroce,
Le virtù antiche del Latino impero:

E allor, di Stige sulla negra foce,
Di lui, che l'Alpi superò primiero,
Rise l'invendicata ombre feroce.




WHEN to his native, yet ungrateful earth,
Great Scipio bade adieu-as one whose heart
Dauntless, in exile proudly could depart―
Denied a grave, where he received his birth;
Burst the stern cry of shame, indignant, forth,
From shades, who fell Rome's glory to increase,
And to the guardian powers of war and peace,
Sad mourned the example of degraded worth:
Rome's ancient virtues urged their haughty flight,
And followed him-indignant, as they fled,
Disdainful frowns the proud reproach displayed;
Then from the Stygian seats of gloom and dread,
Of him, who first subdued the Alpine height,
Laughed, with fierce scorn, the unavenged shade.




WHILE in England the taste for the French school of poetry is rapidly on the decline, if not altogether extinct, it still survives in America. In spite of the influence of new and fashionable names, many of her writers appear to study with considerable success, that class of English Poets, whose reign, commencing at the Restoration, may be considered to have terminated about the middle of the last century. Amongst these, Mr. Maxwell seems to have selected Waller as his model, whose lightness and grace he has occasionally imitated very pleasingly. There is, however, much inequality in his compositions, and the extracts given from his Poems, must on the whole, be considered as favourable specimens. "The Bards of Columbia: An Epistle to the Rev. Timothy Dwight," gives us a curious insight into the ideas of the Ameri

cans themselves, on the state of their poetry; but its length prohibits its insertion. Mr. Maxwell's Poems were published at Philadelphia in 1816.


ARIADNE was the daughter of Minos, king of Crete. Theseus, a noble Athenian, arrives at her father's court, with a band of youths sent over by his countrymen for their annual sacrifice to the Minotaur. Here she falls passionately in love with him at first sight, and gives him a clue by which he winds his way through the labyrinth, slays the monster, and returns to her in triumph. She then listens to his vows of love, and follows his flight to the island of Naxos. But here, the Prince, having satisfied his passion, or, as they tell us, being warned by Bacchus in a dream, abandons her in her sleep, takes to his vessel, and flies from the island, leaving her to solitude and despair. In this situation she is supposed to write the following letter:


AND must I write? And must I stoop so low?
Address the man who bids these sorrows flow?
The false deserter who has left me here?
Ah! foolish heart! and is he still so dear?
Yes! Yes! I love; my frailty I confess;
Tho' torn from all my dreams of happiness:
Yes! cruel, false, ungrateful as thou art,
Ah! still too dear to this forgiving heart.

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