ORIGINAL POETRY.

GENIUS......A FRAGMENT.

MOURN not that Genius does not shed
Her dazzling halo round thy head;
Or Fancy, genius' darling child,
Her richly tinted flow'rets wild

Flings o'er thy level mind!
'Tis true the high and brilliant blaze,
That round his ardent forehead plays,
Attracts, awhile, the homag'd gaze

Of souls to humbler bounds confin'd.

And Fancy lends him wings to fly,
Where morning lights the flushing sky,
Or chase the rainbow's fleeting hue,
Or mark the trembling gems of dew,

That evening's airy eyelid weeps;

Yet many a pang of power severe,
To force the bitter, burning tear,

Or chill the pulse's young career,

Its sting, for wayward Genius, keeps !

LOVE.

Off from my lyre, thou bitter wreath,

Which Love's enchantment round it throws!

I'll not inhale your melting breath,

'Tis passion's soul, 'tis reason's death,

Of manhood's noon the darkening close.

I've touch'd to Love's impassion'd beam,

The sweetest notes my lyre can boast!
Away the warm, enfeebling theme!
"Tis reason's scorn, the young heart's dream,
And lives not in this age of frost.

H.

H.

SELECTED POETRY.

SONG.

BY LORD BYRON.

Fill the goblet again! for I never before

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core ;
Let us drink! who would not? since through life's varied round,
In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;

I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;

I have lov'd! who has not ? but what heart can declare
That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,
And dreams that affection can never take wing,

I had friends! who has not ? but what tongue will avow
That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?

The breast of a mistress some boy may estrange,

Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst change;
Thou grow'st old, who does not? but on earth what appears
Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?

Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,

We are jealous! who is not?-thou hast no such alloy,
For tbe more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

Then the season of youth, and its vanities past,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last ;
There we find, do we not, in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confin'd to the bowl?

When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth,
And Misery's triumph commenc'd over Mirth;
Hope was left, was she not? but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Long life to the grape ! for when summer is flown
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own;

We must die, who shall not? may our sins be forgiven,
And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.

WIFE, CHILDREN AND FRIENDS.

BY W. R. SPENCER, ESQ.

When the black letter'd list to the gods was presented,
The list of what fate for each mortal intends;

At a long string of ills, a kind angel relented,

And slipp'd in three blessings-Wife, chil dren and friends.

In vain angry Lucifer swore he was cheated,

For justice divine could not compass its ends,

The scheme of man's fall, he maintain'd, was defeated,

For earth becomes heaven with-Wife, children and friends.

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands vested,
The fund, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends;

But the heart issues bills, which are never protested,
When drawn on the firm of-Wife, children and friends.

Though valour still glows in his life's waning embers,
The death-wounded tar, who his colours defends,
Drops a tear of regret, as he dying remembers,

How blest was his home with-Wife, children and friends.

The soldier whose deeds live immortal in story,
Whom duty to far distant latitudes sends,
With transport would barter whole ages of glory,
For one happy day with-Wife, children and friends.
Though spice-breathing gales o'er his caravan hover,
And around him Arabia's whole fragrance descends;
The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover,
The bower where he sat with-Wife, children and friends.
The day-spring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow,
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends,

But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow

No warmth from the smiles of-Wife, children and friends.

Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish
The laurel that o'er her dead favorite bends;
O'er him wave the willow which only can flourish,

When dew'd with the tears of Wife, children and friends.

Let us drink! for my song growing graver and graver,

To subjects too solemn insensibly tends;

Let us drink! pledge me high! wine and beauty shall flavour The glass which I fill to-Wife, children and friends.

And if in the hope this fair island to plunder,

The tyrant of France to invade us pretends,

How his legions will shrink, when our arm'd freemen thunder The war song of Britons-Wife, children and friends.

TO A LADI WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL.
BY WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.

[Not published in any American Edition of his Works.]
Take these flowers, which purple waving,
On the ruin'd rampart grew,
Where, the sons of freedom braving,
Rome's imperial standard flew.
Warriours from the breach of danger,
Pluck no longer laurels there,

They but yield the passing stranger

Wild flower wreaths for beauty's hair.

LINES,

From the Greek of Callistratus, on the expulsion of the son of Pisistratus, and the subseqent establishment of a democracy at Athens.

In myrtle my sword will I wreath,

Like our patriots, the noble and brave,

Who devoted the tyrant to death,

And to Athens equality gave!

Lov'd Harmodius, thou never shalt die !
The poets exultingly tell

That thine is the fulness of joy,

Where Achilles and Diomed dwell.

In myrtle my sword will I wreath,

Like our patriots, the noble and brave,

Who devoted Hipparchus to death,

And buried his pride in the grave.

At the alter the tyrant they seiz'd,

While Minerva he vainly implor'd,
And the goddess of wisdom was pleas'd
With the victim of Liberty's sword.

May your bliss be immortal on high,

Among men as your glory shall be ;
Ye doom'd the usurper to die,

And bade our dear country be free!

METEOROLOGICAL JOURNAL, ending 22d September, 1813.

Thermometer | Barometer.

Winds. Weather.

Observation

9th 168 170

68 29.92, 29 8229.72 S. S. E. Rain. Ram 10th 66 74 68 29.80 29 82 29 88 N.W N W Cloudy Fair. 11th 65 80 74 29.90 29 90 29 85

S

S.

Fair. Fair.

Diseases.

12th 72 85

79 29.85 29.85 29 80

Cholera In

13th 76 87

74 29-80 29,70 29 80 S

fantum, Re

14th 64 75

66 29 98 30.00 29.98 N W. N.W. Fair.

Fair.

mittent Fe

15th: 56 73

Fair.

vers,Cynan

16th 56 75

68 130 10 30.10 30 10

Fair.

che Paroti

17th 67 65

62

30.10 30.1030.12

Rain.

dæa, &c.

Fair.

62

30.08 30.08 30.0 N W.N.W. Fair.

Fair.

20th 64 74

68 29 94 29,78 29.78 W W. Fair

Fair.

21st 62 72

22d 163 58

64 29.84 29 84 29.85 W. W. Fair. Fair.
68 129 85'29.80 29.78 S.
s Fair. Fair.

Printed for JOHN COOK, by E. & E. HOSFORD, Albany.

THE STRANGER.

"Therefore as a STRANGER, bid it welcome."

HAMLET.

No. 9.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1813.

VOL. I.

REVIEW.

ART. IV. The Life of the late Gen. William Eaton; several years an officer in the United States Army, Consul at the Regency of Tunis on the coast of Barbary, and Com mander of the Christian and other forces, that marched from Egypt through the Desert of Barca, in 1805, and conquered the city of Derne, which led to the Treaty of Peace between the United States and the Regency of Tripoli : principally collected from his correspondence and other manuscripts. Brookfield, (Mass.) E. MERRIAM & Co. 1813. Octavo. pp. 448.

[CONCLUDED.]

Ox landing, Eaton and Cathcart were received by Mr. O'Brien, consul general of the United States for the Barbary coast, and resided with him for several weeks. Shortly after their arrival, they were presented to the Dey of Algiers. The following description is given in so characteristick a manner, that we copy it in Eaton's own words.

Consuls O'Brien, Cathcart and myself, Captains Geddes, Smith, Penrose, and Maley, proceeded from the American house to the court yard of the palace, uncovered our heads, entered the area of the hall, ascended a winding maze of five flights of stairs, to a narrow, dark entry, leading to a contracted apartment of about twelve by eight feet, the private audience room. Here we took off our shoes; and, entering the cave, (for so it seemed) with small apertures of light with iron grates, we were shown to a huge, shaggy beast, sitting on his rump, upon a low bench, covered with a cushion of embroidered velvet, with his hind legs gathered up like a taylor, or a bear. On our approach to him, he reached out his fore paw as if to receive something to eat. Our guide exclaimed, "Kiss the Dey's hand!" The consul general bowed very elegantly, and kissed it; and we followed his example in succession. The animal seemed at that moment to be in a harmless mood: he grinned several times; but made very little noise. Having per