Obrazy na stronie

Or shipwreck'd mariner to save

Shall strive my dauntless soul,
Oft beating back the furious waves

Which round me threat'ning roll.
I, oft will range the desert plain

In contemplative mood,
And oft attend the house of pain,

The minister of good:
To sooth the wretch, embracing death

His sole relief from wo;
To cheer the sufferer's latest breath,

And Friendship's balm bestow:
Oft I unbar the felon's cell,

And heave for him, the sigh;
Where dark Despair and Anguish dwell,

Is felt my sympathy:
I love to ease the troubled breast

That feels the wound of sin,
And turn the mind, to seek the blest

Great Comforter within;
And while I thus my hours employ

To light the gloomy mind,
I catch a melancholy joy,

A consolation find;
To me more dear, congenial more

Than those from wealth that flow;
Ambition bright, nor fame, nor pow'r

Can such pure bliss bestow.
While, Melancholy! scenes like these

Afford thee pure delight,
Hope shall unbar the gates of peace

And joy, and endless light.
Philadelphia, June 4, 1810,

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STRANGER! if thou canst shed a tear
Over departed worth, draw nigh,
Nor be ashamed to shed it here
Where Honesty and Valour lie.

Beneath this sod his manes slumber,
Whose memory claims a cordial praise,
That tribute which in measured number,
The bard, who knew his merit, pays.

Pause then, I pray, whoe'er thou art,
Whose vagrant feet this pathway tread,
And ponder on what, from the heart,
Now gushes to embalm the dead!

His was a courteous spirit, free
From churlishness of every kind,
And they who knew him knew that he,
Was plagu'd not with a bigot's mind.

The nicest sense of honour gaged
His actions by its golden square;
War with the feeble he ne'er waged,
Nor played one game he thought unfair.

His strict fidelity and zeal
Were known to all that saw him oft;
His heart each slight repulse could feel,
For it was gentle, warm, and soft.

All too that knew him will allow
How strong he felt the moral tie,
For, reader blush! he knew not how
To fabricate or spread a lic.

Nor could he, like a hypocrite,
Blast by surmise, with looks so clean!
He, if he hinted he would bite,
Would bite, though danger stood between.

Few were more diligent to stir,
When any one the signal gave,
His answer being always “Sir!"
Or, “Madam speak; I am your slave."

No democrat, nor fed, nor quid,
Nor partizan to stiff opinion,
He leagued with none: and what he did
Betrayed no lust for high dominion.

A water-drinker, mild and frisky,
He poisoned not, like many a dunce,
The streams of health with stinking whiskey,
And drunk was never never once.

Reader! if Fame allure thee, pause,
And screw thy virtues to this notch,
Who knows but that the same applause
May follow thee which follows WATCH?

Seminary Range.


The following is an extemporary effusion written at sea; it is the production of a youthful pen, and as such is submitted to your ordeal.

Moonlight and calm at sea.
When every breeze is hush'd to rest,
And the soft zephyr of the dappled west

Its voice does lose;
When Dian's silver light does sleep,
O'er the smooth bosom of the deep,

How sweet to niuse!

When ocean's swelling bosom bright,
Seems studded o'er with golden light,

Of many a star;
And the wild sea fowls' harsh shrill strain
Echoing along th' unruffled main

Is heard afar;

Tis then each rising care does sleep
With the soft stillness of the deep,

In sympathetic power.
Tis then each swelling pulse does thrill,
And sweetest bliss the heart does fill,

In such an hour.

The soul too fond is soothed to rest;
By mild serenity possess'd,

Nor thinks the storm is nigh;
But soon the placid scene is o'er,
And swelling ocean round does roar,

Contesting with the sky.

'Tis thus on life's deceitful tide,
With placid course we seem to glide,

All free from care;
But soon the too delusive charm,
Flies fast away with every calm,

And prospect


Then happy they, who list'ning hear,
The voice that speaks the tempest near,

And arms for every ill;
The whirlwind blast is then disarmed,
Of many a shaft that would have harm’d,
And half the storm is still.

LORENZO. Atlantic ocean, Ju+16 20:1, 1809.

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Various; that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change,
And pleas'd with novelty, may be indulged.



MAY, 1811.

No. 5.


Inchiquin, the Jesuit's Letters, &c. continued from page 317.

OF all the ingredients (and they are both numerous and varied) that enter into the composition of national character, there is, perhaps, none more interesting, or more extensively and importantly operative, none that can be turned to a higher account, than a wellregulated principle of national pride. This principle is so nearly allied to the love of country, that it might almost be regarded as another name for that virtuous attachment. No man can sincerely love his country, without being proud of his country--no man can sincerely love his fellow citizens, without being proud of his fellow citizens -no man can love the constitution, laws, and government under which he lives, without being proud of these national compacts. So necessarily does a sentiment of pride grow out of, and identify itself with, a sentiment of affection.

What is it but a principle of national pride?—what but a noble and high-minded emulation of the achievements of his ancestors and countrymen, that nerves the arm of the soldier, and renders his soul invincible in battle? what but this laudable and ennobling sentiment has so long and with such certainty covered the British navy with unfading laurels? The British officers and seamen, it is true, surpass all other people in their knowledge of the science and



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