Of purer texture than the world has known, To show the world, what high perfection springs And fit to bind us to a Godhead's throne ! From rabble senators, and merchant kings Even here already patriots learn to steal But, is it thus ? doth even the glorious dream Their private perquisites from public weal, Borrow from truth that dim uncertain gleam, And, guardians of the country's sacred fire, Which bids us give such dear delusion scope, Like Afric's priests, they let the flame for hire ! As kills not reason, while it nurses hope ? Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose No, no, believe me, 'tis not so-e'en now, From England's debtors to be England's foes,' While yet upon Columbia's rising brow Who could their monarch in their purse forget, The showy smile of young presumption plays, And break allegiance, but to cancel debt, Her bloom is poison’d and her heart decays ! Have prov'd, at length, the mineral's tempting hue, Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath Which makes a patriot, can unmake him too.3 Burns with the taint of empires near their death, Oh! freedom, freedom, how I hate thy cant ! · And, like the nymphs of her own withering clime, Not eastern bombast, nor the savage rant She's old in youth, she's blasted in her prime!' Of purpled madmen, were they number'd all Already has the child of Gallia's school, From Roman Nero down to Russian Paul, The foul Philosophy that sins by rule, Could grate upon my ear so mean, so base, With all her train of reasoning, damning arts As the rank jargon of that factious race, Begot by brilliant heads or worthless hearts, Who, poor of heart, and prodigal of words, Like things that quicken after Nilus' flood, Born to be slaves and struggling to be lords, The venom'd birth of sunshine and of mud! But pant for licence while they spurn control, Already has she pour'd her poison here And shout for rights with rapine in their soul! O’er every charm that makes existence dear- Who can, with patience, for a moment see Already blighted, with her black’ning trace, The medley mass of pride and misery, The opening bloom of every social grace, Of whips and charters, manacles and rights, And all those courtesies, that love to shoot Of slaving blacks and democratic whites, Round Virtue's stem, the flow'rets of her fruit ! And all the pye-bald polity that reigns In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains ? Oh! were these errors but the wanton tide To think that man, thou just and gentle God! Of young luxuriance or unchasten'd pride ; Should stand before thee, with a tyrant's rod The fervid follies and the faults of such O'er creatures like himself, with soul from thee, As wrongly feel, because they feel too much ; Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty: Then might experience make the fever less, Away, away—I'd rather hold my neck Nay, graft a virtue on each warm excess : By doubtful tenure from a sultan's beck, But no; 'tis heartless, speculative ill In climes, where liberty has scarce been nam'd, All youth's transgression with all age's chill- Nor any right but that of ruling claim'd, The apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice, Than thus to live, where bastard freedom waves A slow and cold stagnation into vice! Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves; Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage, Where (motley laws admitting no degree And latest folly of man's sinking age, Betwixt the vilely slav'd and madly free) Which, rarely venturing in the van of life, While nobler passions wage their heated strife, 1 I trust I shall not be suspected of a wish to justify those Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear, arbitrary steps of the English government which the Colo nies found it so necessary to resist; my only object here is And dies, collecting lumber in the rear ! to expose the selfish motives of some of the leading AmeriLong has it palsied every grasping hand can demagogues. And greedy spirit through this bartering land; 2 The most persevering enemy to the interests of this Turn'd life to traffic, set the demon gold country, among the politicians of the western world, has been a Virginian merchant, who, finding it easier to settle So loose abroad, that Virtue's self is sold, his conscience than his debts, was one of the first to raise And conscience, truth, and honesty, are made the standard against Great Britain, and has ever since enTo rise and fall, like other wares of trade !? deavoured to revenge upon the whole country the obliga tions which he lies under to a few of its merchants. Already in this free, this virtuous state, 3 See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania InsurrecWhich, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain'd by fate, tion in 1794. In short, see Porcupine's Works throughout for ample corroboration of every sentiment which I have ventured to express. In saying this, I refer less to the com1 “What will be the old age of this government, if it is ments of that writer, than to the occurrences which he has Cus early decrepit!" Such was the remark of Fauchet, related, and the documents which he has preserved. Opithe French minister at Philadelphia, in that famous despatch nion may be suspected of bias, but facts speak for them selves. to his government which was intercepted by one of our cruisers in the year 1794. This curious memorial may be 4 In Virginia the effects of this system begin to be felt found in Porcupine's Works, vol. i. p. 279. It remains a rather seriously. While the master raves of liberty, the striking monument of republican intrigue on one side, and slave cannot but catch the contagion, and accordingly there republican profligacy on the other; and I would recommend seldom elapses a month without some alarm of insurrection the perusal of it to every honest politician, who may labour amongst the negroes. The accession of Louisiana, it is under a moment's delusion with respect to the purity of feared, will increase this embarrassment; as the numerous American patriotism. emigrations which are expected to take place from the 2"Nous voyons que dans les pays où l'on n'est affecté southern states to this newly acquired territory, will conque de l'esprit de commerce, on trafique de toutes les actions siderably diminish the white population, and thus strengthen humaines et de toutes les vertus morales.' Montesquieu, de the proportion of negroes to a degree which must ultimately l'Esprit des Lois, Liv. 20. Chap. 2. be ruinous. Alike the bondage and the licence suit, serv'd Astronomy should leave the skies, SONG, Is fair-but oh! how fair, One leaf to mingle there! Dim gems for dew-drops fall, Were sweetly worth them all ! Our emblem well may be; Must keep its tears for me! ANACREONTIC. I nothing did but drink and fill; 'Twas drinking, filling, drinking still ! At length I bid an artist paint Thy image in this ample cup, That I might see the dimpled saint To whom I quaff'd my nectar up. Behold how bright that purple lip Is blushing through the wave at me! Every roseat drop I sip Is just like kissing wine from thee! But, oh! I drink the more for this ; For, ever when the draught I drain, Thy lip invites another kiss, And in the nectar flows again! So, here's to thee, my gentle dear! And may that eye for ever shine Beneath as soft and sweet a tear As bathes it in this bowl of mine! LYING. Che con le lor bujie pajon divini. Mauro d'Arcano. I do confess, in many a sigh, TO'S PICTURE. Go then, if she whose shade thou art No more will let thee soothe my painYet tell her, it has cost this heart Some pangs, to give thee back again! Tell her the smile was not so dear, With which she made thy semblance mine, As bitter is the burning tear, With which I now the gift resign! Yet go—and could she still restore, As some exchange for taking thee, The tranquil look which first I wore, When her eyes found me wild and free: Could she give back the careless flow, The spirit which my fancy knewYet, ah ! 'tis vain-go, picture, go Smile at me once, and then-adieu ! O’er Nature's form to glance the eye, And fix, by mimic light and shade, Her morning tinges, ere they fly, Her evening blushes, ere they fade! Before the day-star learn'd to move, These are the pencil's grandest theme,' In pomp of fire, along his grand career, Divinest of the powers divine Glancing the beamy shafts of light That light the Muse's flowery dream, And these, oh Prince ! are richly thine ! Yet, yet, when Friendship sees thee trace, In emanating soul express'd, The sweet memorial of a face On which her eye delights to rest; While o'er the lovely look serene, The smile of Peace, the bloom of youth, The cheek, that blushes to be seen, The eye, that tells the bosom's truth; While o'er each line, so brightly true, Saw Love himself thy absence weeping ! Her soul with fond attention roves, But look what glory through the darkness beams! Blessing the hand, whose various hue Could imitate the form it loves; She feels the value of thy art, And owns it with a purer zeal, Of the young godhead's dreams, A rapture, nearer to her heart, Or were his tears, as quick they fell, THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPUS TO A LAMP WHICH WAS GIVEN HIM BY LAIS. They spring to life in shape so fair and warm ! 'Tis she! Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna. Psyche, the first born spirit of the air ! Martial, Lib. xiv. Epig. 39. To thee, oh Love! she turns, On thee her eye-beam burns : “Oh! love the Lamp (my mistress said) Blest hour of nuptial ecstacy! The faithful Lamp that, many a night, Beside thy Lais' lonely bed Has kept its little watch of light Oh! sweet, oh heavenly sweet! “ Full often has it seen her weep, Now, Sympathy, the hour is thine; And fix her eyes upon its flame, All nature feels the thrill divine, Till, weary, she has sunk to sleep, The veil of Chaos is withdrawn, Repeating her beloved's name ! And their first kiss is great Creation's dawn! “ Oft has it known her cheek to burn With recollections, fondly free, To kiss the pillow, love! for thee, 1 It was not very difficult to become a philosopher THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER, amongst the ancients. A moderate store of learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and wit enough to proON HIS PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADELAIDE F-RB-s. duce an occasional apophthegm, were all the necessary Donington Park, 1802. qualifications for the purpose. The principles of moral science were so very imperfectly understood, ihat the founTo catch the thought, by painting's spell, der of a new sect, in forming his ethical code, might consult Howe'er remote, howe'er refin'd, either fancy or temperament, and adapt it to his own pasAnd o'er the magic tablet tell sions and propensities; so that Mahomet, with a little more learning might have flourished as a philosopher in those The silent story of the mind; days, and would have required but the polish of the schools to become the rival of Aristippus in morality. In the science 1 Love and Psyche are here considered as the active and of nature too, though they discovered some valuable truths, passive principles of creation, and the universe is supposed yet they seemed not to know they were truths, or at least to have received its first harmonizing impulse from the were as well satisfied with errors; and Xenophanes, who asnuptial sympathy between these two powers. A marriage serted that the stars were igneous clouds, lighted up every is generally the first step in cosinogony. Timæus held Form night and extinguished again in the morning, was thought to be the father, and Matter i he mother of the world; Elion and stylid a philosopher, as generally as he who anticipated avd Beronth, I think, are Sanchoniatho's first spiritual Nerton in developing the arrangement of the universe. lovers, and Manco capar ant his wife introduced cretion For this opinion of Xenoph is, ser Plutarch de Placit. amongst the Peruvians. In short, Istriequin seems to have r!!!xoph. tit. C. 13 lii wono read the treause studied cosmogonies, when he said "tutto il mondo è fatto of Plutarch, without sertachyadmining and sailing at the come la nostra famiglia." 1 genius the absurd ties ortne hilosophers * * * * * * * * And, in a murmur, wish thee there, That kiss to feel, that thought to share! "Then love the Lamp-'twill often lead Yes-dearest Lamp! by every charm On which thy midnight beam has hung;1 The neck reclin'd, the graceful arm Across the brow of ivory flung; The heaving bosom, partly hid, The sever'd lip's delicious sighs, By these, by all that bloom untold, My Lamp and I shall never part! And often, as she smiling said, In fancy's hour, thy gentle rays Shall guide my visionary tread Through poesy's enchanting maze! Thy flame shall light the page refin'd, Where still we catch the Chian's breath, Where still the bard, though cold in death, Has left his burning soul behind! Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine, 4 Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades!? To whom the nightly-warbling Nine3 A wand of inspiration gave, Pluck'd from the greenest tree that shades The crystal of Castalia's wave. Then, turning to a purer lore, We'll cull the sages' heavenly store, From Science steal her golden clue, And every mystic path pursue, Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes Through labyrinths of wonder flies! "Tis thus my heart shall learn to know 1 The ancients had their lucerna cubiculariæ, or bedchamber lamps, which, as the Emperor Galienus said, "nil cras meminere;" and with the same commendation of secrecy, Praxagora addresses her lamp, in Aristophanes, Exxλs. We may judge how fanciful they were, in the use and embellishment of their lamps, from the famous symbolic Lucerna which we find in the Romanum Museum, Mich. Ang. Causei, p. 127. 2 Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of his father's flight to the wretched village of Ascra. Epy. x Hμsp. v. 251. v. 10. 3 Εννυχίας στείχον, περικαλλέα οσσαν ιείσαι.—Theog. 4 Kas pas naтpov edov, Sæœvns spitnλsm očov. Id. v. 30. 5 Ρειν τα όλα ποταμού δίκην, as expressed among the dogmas of Heraclitus the Ephesian, and with the same image by Seneca, in whom we find a beautiful diffusion of the thought. "Nemo est mane, qui fuit pridie. Corpora I'll tell thee, as I trim thy fire, "Swift the tide of being runs, One little hour resign'd to thee- The sage's immortality! Then far be all the wisdom hence, And all the lore, whose tame control At which the young, the panting soul Sweet Lamp! thou wert not form'd to shed Of thoughtful lore and studies sage And, soon as night shall close the eye Of Heaven's young wanderer in the west, To find their future orbs of rest; nostra rapiuntur fluminum more; quicquid vides currit cum i Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happiness, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses. 2 Maupertuis has been still more explicit than this philosopher, in ranking the pleasures of sense above the sublimest pursuits of wisdom. Speaking of the infant man, in his production, he calls him, " une nouvelle créature, qui pourra comprendre les choses les plus sublimes, et ce qui est bien au-dessus, qui pourra goûter les mêmes plaisirs." See his Vénus Physique. This appears to be one of the efforts at Fontenelle's gallantry of manner, for which the learned President is so well ridiculed in the Akakia of Voltaire. Maupertuis may be thought to have borrowed from the ancient Aristippus that indiscriminate theory of pleasures which he has set forth in his Essai de Philosophie Morale, and for which he was so very justly condemned. Aristippus, according to Laertius, held μη διαφέρειν τι ηδονην ηδονης, which irrational sentiment has been adopted by Maupertuis: "Tant qu'on ne considère que l'état présent, tous les plaisirs sont du même genre," ect. ect. Yet Innocence, whene'er he came, Would tremble for her spotless book! For still she saw his playful fingers * Fill'd with sweets and wanton toys; And well she knew the stain that lingers After sweets from wanton boys ! And, led by thy mysterious ray, Glide to the pillow of my love. Calm be her sleep, the gentle dear! Nor let her dream of bliss so near, Till o'er her cheek she thrilling feel My sighs of fire in murmurs steal, And I shall lift the locks, that flow Unbraided o'er her lids of snow, And softly kiss those sealed eyes, And wake her into sweet surprise ! Or if she dream, oh ! let her dream Of those delights we both have known And felt so truly, that they seem Form'd to be felt by us alone! Shall see her bosom warmly move, The murmur'd sounds so dear to love ! Oh! I shall gaze, till even the sigh, That wafts her very soul, be nigh, And when the nymph is all but blest, Sink in her arms and share the rest! Sweet Lais! what an age of bliss In that one moment waits for me! Oh sages ! think on joy ļike this, And where's your boast of apathy ! And so it chanc'd, one luckless night He let his honey goblet fall And sullied lines and marge and all ! The honey from the leaf to drink, For still the more the boy would sip, The deeper still the blot would sink ! Oh ! it would make you weep to see The traces of this honey flood Steal o'er a page where Modesty Had freshly drawn a rose's bud! And Fancy's emblems lost their glow, And Hope's sweet lines were all defac'd, And Love himself could scarcely know What Love himself hąd lately trac'd! TO MRS. BL-H-D. At length the urchin Pleasure fled, (For how, alas! could pleasure stay ?) And Love, while many a tear he shed, In blushes flung the book away! The index now alone remains, Of all the pages spoil'd by Pleasure, And though it bears some honey stains, Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure ! WRITTEN IN HER ALBJM. Τετο δε τι εστι το ποτον; πλανη, εφη. Cebetis Tabula. And oft, they say, she scans it o'er, And oft, by this memorial aided, Brings back the pages now no more, And thinks of lines that long have faded ! I know not if this tale be true, But thus the simple facts are stated; And I refer their truth to you, Since Love and you are near related ! EPISTLE VII. THEY say that Love had once a book, (The urchin likes to copy you,) Where, all who came the pencil took, And wrote, like us, a line or two. 'Twas Innocence, the maid divine, Who kept this volume bright and fair, And saw that no unhallow'd line, Or thought profane should enter there And sweetly did the pages fill With fond device and loving lore, And every leaf she turn'd was still More bright than that she turn'd before! Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, How light the magic pencil ran! Till Fear would come, alas ! as oft, And trembling close what Hope began A tear or two had dropp'd from Grief, And Jealousy would, now and then, Ruffle in haste some snowy leaf, Which Love had still to smooth again! But, oh! there was a blooming boy, Who often turn’d the pages o'er, And wrote therein such words of joy, As all who read still sigh'd for more. And Pleasure was this spirit's name, And though so soft his voice and look, |