"Around thy wheels, in the glad throng,

I'd bear a joyful part;

All Hallelujah on my tongue,

All rapture in my heart."

ELEGY,

ADDRESSED TO GOVERNOR BELCHER ON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY.

BELCHER, once more permit the muse you loved,
By honor, and by sacred friendship moved,
Waked by your woe, her numbers to prolong,
And pay her tribute in a funeral song.

From you, great heaven with undisputed voice,
Has snatch'd the partner of your youthful joys.
Her beauties, ere slow hectic fires consumed,
Her eyes shone cheerful, and her roses bloom'd:
Long lingering sickness broke the lovely form,
Shock after shock, and storm succeeding storm,
Till death, relentless, seized the wasting clay,
Stopp'd the faint voice, and catch'd the soul away.

No more in converse sprightly she appears,
With nice decorum, and obliging airs:
Ye poor, no more expecting round her stand,
Where soft compassion stretch'd her bounteous hand
Her house, her happy skill no more shall boast;
"Be all things plentiful, but nothing lost."
Cold to the tomb, see the pale corpse convey'd,
Wrapt up in silence, and the dismal shade.

Ah! what avail the sable velvet spread,
And golden ornaments amidst the dead?
No beam smiles there, no eye can there discern
The vulgar coffin from the marble urn:
The costly honors, preaching, seem to say,
"Magnificence must mingle with the clay."

Learn here, ye fair, the frailty of your face,
Ravish'd by death, or nature's slow decays:
Ye great, must so resign your transient power,
Heroes of dust, and monarchs of an hour!
So must each pleasing air, each gentle fire,
And all that's soft, and all that's sweet expire.

But you, O Belcher, mourn the absent fair,
Feel the keen pang, and drop the tender tear:
The God approves that nature do her part,
A panting bosom, and a bleeding heart.
Ye baser arts of flattery, away!

The virtuous muse shall moralize her lay.
To you, O favorite man, the power supreme,
Gives wealth, and titles, and extent of fame;
Joys from beneath, and blessings from above;
Thy monarch's plaudit; and thy people's love:
The same high power, unbounded, and alone,
Resumes his gifts, and puts your mourning on.
His edict issues, and his vassal, death,

Requires your consort's, or your flying breath.
Still be your glory at his feet to bend,

Kiss thou the Son, and own his sovereign hand;
For his high honors all thy powers exert,
The gifts of nature, and the charms of art;
So, over death, the conquest shall be given,
Your name shall live on earth, your soul in heaven.

Meantime my name to thine allied shall stand,
Still our warm friendship, mutual flames extend;
The muse shall so survive from age to age,
And Belcher's name protect his Byles's page.

HYMN WRITTEN DURING A VOYAGE.

GREAT God thy works our wonder raise;
To thee our swelling notes belong;
While skies and winds, and rocks and seas,
Around shall echo to our song.

Thy power produced this mighty frame,
Aloud to thee the tempests roar,
Or softer breezes tune thy name
Gently along the shelly shore.

Round thee the scaly nation roves,
Thy opening hands their joys bestow,
Through all the blushing coral groves,
These silent gay retreats below.

See the broad sun forsake the skies,
Glow on the waves and downward glide,

Anon heaven opens all its eyes,

And star-beams tremble o'er the tide.

Each various scene, or day or night,
Lord! points to thee our nourish'd soul;
Thy glories fix our whole delight;

So the touch'd needle courts the pole.

JOSEPH GREEN.

JOSEPH GREEN was born in Boston, A. D. 1706. He was educated at Harvard College, and received a degree in 1726. On leaving college, he entered into mercantile pursuits in Boston, to which he continued to devote himself for the greater part of his life. He possessed a lively temperament with a copious vein of humor and satire, and became the master spirit of a club of wits who entertained themselves with turning to ridicule the political freaks of the government, and the follies in vogue among the society of Boston. Green wrote satires, epigrams, and parodies upon every matter which offered scope for his powers of sarcasm and drollery. His wit was without malignity or peevishness, and never degenerated into abuse. He made no attempt at any work of magnitude, but contented himself with short and occasional sallies. Governor Belcher and the most noted public characters offered a theme for his pleasantry, which he vented in many a political diatribe, for Green, though not in the early part of his life placed in any public station, was a sagacious and interested observer of political events. Retiring and unambitious in his personal character, he was a firm opposer of arbitrary power.

Green's lampooning contest with Mather Byles afforded much entertainment to the people of Boston. Governor Belcher being about to sail to the eastern part of the province, upon a visit to the Indian tribes, invited Byles to accompany him, which he declined. But the Governor, who valued the pleasure of his company upon such an expedition too highly to forego it upon a slight consideration, made use of a strata

gem to obtain his object. He embarked on board the Scarborough man of war, on Saturday. The ship dropped down the harbor and anchored near the castle. On Sunday Belcher prevailed with the chaplain of the castle to exchange pulpits with Byles, and in the afternoon invited the doctor on board to drink tea. While they were at table the ship weighed anchor and put to sea, and Byles upon making the discovery, found himself too far from land to think of returning. The governor had provided everything necessary for him, and he was easily reconciled to the voyage. The next Sunday, on making arrangements for divine service, it was found there was no hymn-book on board, and to supply the defect, Byles wrote the hymn which we have given among his pieces.

This incident was too broad a mark for Green's ridicule to escape notice. He made it the subject of a jeu d'esprit, in which he burlesqued the matter in a truly farcical strain. Byles did not think it beneath him to parody Green's burlesque, and turned the ridicule against his rival wit with great spirit and vehemence. In this "keen encounter” Green excelled his opponent in the weapons of light agreeable raillery. Byles's retort is too splenetic and coarse to be fully relished as a piece of humorous sarcasm.

Green passed the most of a long life in Boston, and acquired a good fortune by his business. In 1774, the British parliament took away the charter of Massachusetts, and one of the new political regulations thereby introduced was the appointment of the Counsellors of the Province by the royal authority instead of popular election. General Gage, the governor, nominated Green a counsellor under the new administration, but he refused the office. What were his political principles at this time we are not informed. His age and infirmities caused him to view the approaching convulsion in public affairs with dread, and he sought an asylum in England. He left this country in 1775, and died in 1780, at the age of seventy four.

He wrote the "Entertainment for a Winter's Evening," a ridicule upon the free-masons: "The Land Bank," a personal

satire: "A True and Exact Account of the celebration of St. John the Baptist," and the pieces which follow in this work. As no collection of his poems has ever been printed, there are many, probably, which have not come to our knowledge. Two of those named above, exist only in manuscript, and abound too much in personal allusions to interest the reader at the present day.

IN David's Psalms an oversight
Byles found one morning at his tea,
Alas! that he should never write
A proper psalm to sing at sea.

Thus ruminating on his seat,

Ambitious thoughts at length prevail'd.
The bard determined to complete

The part wherein the prophet fail’d.

He sat awhile and stroked his muse,*
Then taking up his tuneful pen,
Wrote a few stanzas for the use
Of his seafaring brethren.

The task perform'd, the bard content,
Well chosen was each flowing word;
On a short voyage himself he went,
To hear it read and sung on board.

Most serious Christians do aver,

(Their credit sure we may rely on,) In former times that after prayer, They used to sing a song of Zion.

Our modern parson having pray'd,

Unless loud fame our faith beguiles,
Sat down, took out his book and said,
"Let's sing a psalm of Mather Byles."

* Byles's favorite cat, so named by his friends.