without bestowing on it any other. Nibby, the Roman antiquary, and translator of Pausanias, has published an essay, in which he attempts to prove, from a passage in the 10th book of Pausanias, that this celebrated figure, which corresponds neither with any other representations of gladiators, nor with the descriptions of Juvenal and Livy, originally belonged to the temple of Apollo at Delphos, where it formed a part of the sculpture decorating the tympanum of the pediment, being placed in one of the angles. And from the torques, or chain of gold, hitherto mistaken for a rope, the horn, the form of the shield, the fashion of the hair, &c. all which circumstances he elucidates by numerous passages from ancient authors, he conjectures that it represents one of the Gauls who were slain in their attack upon the temple. This statue is at present in the capitol, where it was placed in 1815, on being restored from Paris.

Antique Glass-A cabinet has been opened at the Studij at Naples, containing a collection of various specimens of this material found among the ruins of Pompeii and Herculaneum. This valuable assemblage of articles exhibits the greatest variety both in forms and colours, and proves in the most satisfactory manner, that the ancients were as well acquainted as ourselves with the manufactory of this material, whether for articles of use or those of mere decoration and luxury. There are a great num. ber of very curious cinerary urns, most of which are inclosed in vessels of lead.

Canova's Statue of Washington. The artist has represented

Washington as writing his farewell address. He is seated in an ancient Roman chair, with his right leg drawn up and his left carelessly extended; holding in one hand a pen and in the other a scroll; at his feet lie the baton of a field marshal, and a sword like the ancient Roman falchion. The costume is also Roman, the head and neck bare, a close vest and braccæ, with a girdle round the waist, upon which are displayed Medusa's head and other classical emblems. The statue is of white marble of the finest kind, as is likewise the pedestal, upon the sides of which are four bas-reliefs, commemorating the following important circumstances in the life of the hero; viz. his taking the command of the American armies the capture of the British army at York town-his resignation of all his public trusts-and lastly, his retirement from public to private life and agricultural occupations. This is acknowledged by all connoisseurs who have seen it, to be one of the most felicitous productions of Canova's chisel.

Armenian Journal. A Journal in the Armenian language is now printed at the Armenian convent at Venice. This publication, the contents of which are chiefly translated from the Italian jour. nals, has a very considerable circulation throughout all the Levant. At Constantinople it has many subscribers, and has even found its way into the Seraglio. The Hospodars of Wallachia and Moldavia avail themselves of it very extensively for the political bulletins which they are obliged to draw up every week for the Grand Signior.

POETRY.

TO THE RAINBOW.

By T. Campbell.

TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy

To teach me what thou art.

Still seem as to my childhood's sight
A midway station given,

For happy spirits to alight

Betwixt the earth and heaven,

Can all that optics teach unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?

When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,

What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,
How came the world's gray fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign?

And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod,

Each mother held aloft her child

To bless the bow of God.

Were it the last drop in the well,
As I gasped on the brink,

Ere my fainting spirits fell,
'Tis to thee that I would drink.

In that water, as this wine,

The libation I would pour,

Should be-Peace to thee and thine,
And a health to thee, Tom Moore.

TO LADY HOLLAND,

On the LEGACY of a SNUFF-Box, left to her by BUONAPARTE.
By the Earl of Carlisle.

LADY, reject the gift! 'tis ting'd with gore!
Those crimson spots a dreadful tale relate:

It has been grasp'd by an infernal Power;

And by that hand which seal'd young Enghien's fate.

Lady, reject the gift! beneath it's lid

Discord, and Slaughter, and relentless War, With every plague to wretched Man lie hidLet not these loose to range the world afar.

Say, what congenial to his heart of stone,
In thy soft bosom could the Tyrant trace?
When does the dove the eagle's friendship own,
Or the wolf hold the lamb in pure embrace?

Think of that pile, to Addison so dear,

Where Sully feasted, and where Rogers' song
Still adds sweet music to the perfum'd air,

And gently leads each Grace and Muse along.

Pollute not then these scenes-the gift destroy:
'Twill scare the Dryads from that lovely shade;
With them will fly all rural peace and joy,

And screaming Fiends their verdant haunts invade.

That mystic Box hath magic power to raise
Spectres of myriads slain, a ghastly band;

They'll vex thy slumbers, cloud thy sunny days,
Starting from Moscow's snows, or Egypt's sand.

And ye, who, bound in Verdun's treacherous chains,
Slow pin'd to death beneath a base controul,
Say, shall not all abhor, where Freedom reigns,
That petty vengeance of a little soul?

The warning Muse no idle trifler deem;

Plunge the curst mischief in wide Ocean's flood; Or give it to our own majestic stream,

The only stream he could not dye with blood.

THE NEWDIGATE PRIZE POEM, 1821.

By the Hon. G. W. F. Howard, of Christ Church.
PÆSTUM.

'MID the deep silence of the pathless wild,
Where kindlier nature once profusely smil'd,
Th' eternal TEMPLES stand;-untold their age,
Untrac'd their annals in Historic Page;
All that around them stood, now far away,
Single in ruin, mighty in decay,

Between the mountains and the azure main,
They claim the empire of the lonely plain.

In solemn beauty, through the clear blue light,
The Doric columns rear their massive height,

Emblems of strength untam'd; yet conquering Time
Has mellow'd half the sternness of their prime,
And bade the lichen, 'mid their ruins grown,
Imbrown with darker tints the vivid stone.
Each channel'd pillar of the fane appears
Unspoil'd, yet soften'd by consuming years;
So calmly awful, so serenely fair,

The gazer's heart still mutely worships there.
Not always thus-when beam'd beneath the day;
No fairer scene than Pæstum's lovely bay;
When her light soil bore plants of ev'ry huc,
And twice each year her storied roses blew ;
While Bards her blooming honours lov'd to sing,
And Tuscan zephyrs fann'd the eternal spring.
Proud in her port the Tyrian moor'd his fleet,
And Wealth and Commerce fill'd the peopled street;
While here the rescued Mariner ador'd,

The Sea's dread sovereign, Posidonia's lord,
With votive tablets deck'd yon hallow'd walls,

Or sued for Justice in her crowded halls.

There stood on high the white-rob'd Flamen-there

The opening portal pour'd the choral prayer;

While to the o'er-arching Heaven swell'd full the sound,
And incense blaz'd, and myriads knelt around.
'Tis past: the echoes of the plain are mute,
E'en to the herdsman's call or shepherd's flute;
The toils of Art, the charms of Nature fail,
And Death triumphant rides the tainted gale.
From the lone spot the trembling peasants haste,
A wild the garden, and the town a waste.