Mine soul I farrant vill take care,
To pray for her nown self my tear;
So tink a little now for me,

'Tis I am in de hole, not she."

The church forbids it, friend, and saith
That all shall die who have no faith.
"Vell! if I must pelieve, I must,
But help me out von little first,"

No, not an inch without Amen,

That seals the whole-" Vell, hear me den,
I here renounce for coot and all,

De race of Jews both great and small;
'Tis de varst trade peneath the sun,
Or varst religion; dat's all vun.
Dey cheat, and get deir living py't,
And lie, and swear de lie is right.
I'll co to mass as soon as ever
I get to toder side de river.

So help me out, dow Christian friend,
Dat 1 may do as I intend.”

Perhaps you do intend to cheat,
If once you get upon your feet.
"No, no, I do intend to be
A Christian, such a one as dee."
For, thought the Jew, he is as much

A Christian man as I am such.

The bigot Papist joyful hearted
To hear the heretic converted,
Replied to the designing Jew,
This was a happy fall for you:
You'd better die a Christian now,
For if you live you'll break your vow.
Then said no more, but in a trice
Popp'd Mordecai beneath the ice.

ATLANTICUS.

LIBERTY TREE.

TUNE-"The Gods of the Greeks."

I.

In a chariot of light, from the regions of day,
The goddess of liberty came,

Ten thousand celestials directed the way,
And hither conducted the dame.

A fair budding branch from the garden above,
Where millions with millions agree,

She brought in her hand, as a pledge of her love,
And the plant she named Liberty tree.

II.

The celestial exotic struck deep in the ground,
Like a native it flourish'd and bore :

The fame of its fruit drew the nations around,
To seek out this peaceable shore.

Unmindful of names or distinction they came,
For freemen like brothers agree;

With one spirit endued, they one friendship pursued,
And their temple was Liberty tree.

III.

Beneath this fair tree, like the patriarchs of old,
Their bread in contentment they ate,

Unvex'd with the troubles of silver or gold,
The cares of the grand and the great.

With timber and tar they Old England supplied,
And supported her pow'r on the sea :

Her battles they fought, without getting a groat.
For the honour of Liberty Tree..

370

IV.

But hear, O ye swains ('tis a tale most profane),
How all the tyrannical pow'rs,

King, Commons, and Lords, are uniting amain,
To cut down this guardian of ours.

From the east to the west blow the trumpet to arms,
Through the land let the sound of it flee:

Let the far and the near, all unite with a cheer,
In defence of our Liberty tree.

END OF SELECTIONS FROM THE PENNSYLVANIA MAGAZINE.

AN

ADDRESS TO LORD HOWE.

At the time the following lines were written lord Howe was commander in chief of the British forces in the American revolutionary war. addressed to him the second number of the CRISIS, dated at Philadelphia, Jan. Mr. Paine also 13, 1777; in which he remarks, “Your avowed object here, is to kill, conquer, plunder, pardon, and enslave; and the ravages of your army through the Jerseys have been marked with as much barbarism as if you had openly professed yourself the prince of ruffans; not even the appearance of humanity has been preserved either on the march or on the retreat of your troops.-In a folio general order book belonging to colonel Rhol's battalion, taken at Trenton, and now in possession of the council of safety of this state, the following barbarous order is frequently repeated, His Excellency the COMMANDER IN CHIEF orders, that all inhabitants who shall be found with arms, not having an officer with them, shall be immediately taken and hung up? How many you may thus have privately sacrified we know not, and the account can only be settled in another world."

The rain pours down, the City looks forlorn,
And gloomy subjects suit the howling morn ;
Close by my fire, with door and window fast,
And safely shelter'd from the driving blast
To gayer thoughts I bid a day's adieu,
To spend a scene of solitude with you.

So oft has black revenge engross'd the carc Of all the leisure hours man finds to spare ; So oft has guilt in all her thousand dens, Call'd for the vengeance of chastising pens; That while I fain would ease my heart on you, No thought is left untold no passion new. From flight to flight the mental path appears, Worn with the steps of near six thousand years, And fill'd throughout with every scene of pain, From George the murderer up to murderous Cain. Alike in cruelty, alike in haste,

In guilt alike, but more alike in fate.

Both cursed supremely for the blood they drew,
Each from the rising world, while each was new.

Go, man of blood! true likeness of the first,
And strew your blasted head with homely dust:
In ashes sit-in wretched sackloth weep,
And with unpitied sorrows cease to sleep.
Go haunt the tombs, and single out the place
Where earth itself shall suffer a disgrace.
Go spell the letters on some mould'ring urn,
And ask if he who sleeps there can return.
Go count the numbers that in silence lie,
And learn by study what it is to die;
For sure your heart if any heart you own,
Conceits that man expires without a groan :
That he who lives receives from you a grace,
Or death is nothing but a change of place :
That peace is dull, that joy from sorrow springs,
And war the most desirable of things.

Else why these scenes that wound the feeling mind,
This sport of death-this cockpit of mankind!
Why sobs the widow in perpetual pain!

Why cries the orphan !-Oh! my father's slain !"
Why hangs the sire his paralytic head?

And nods with manly grief-" My son is dead!"
Why drops the tear from off his sister's cheek,
And sweetly tells the misery she would speak?
Or, why, in sorrow sunk does pensive John
To all the neighbours tell," Poor master's gone?"

Oh! could I paint the passion I can feel,
Or point a horror that would wound like steel,
To thy unfeeling, unrelenting mind,

I'd send a torture and relieve mankind,

You that are husbands, fathers, brothers, all
The tender names which kindred learn to call;
Yet like an image carved in massy stone,
You bear the shape, but sentiment have none;
Allied by dust and figure, not with mind,
You only herd, but live not with mankind.

Since then no hopes to civilize remain, And mild philosophy has preach'd in vain, One prayer is left which dreads no proud reply, That he who made you breathe will make you die.

SONG.

THE FOURTH OF JULY.

TUNE-" Rule Brittannia."

Hail! great Republic of the world,

The rising empire of the west;

Where fam'd Columbus' mighty mind inspired,
Gave tortured Europe scenes of rest!

CHORUS.

Be thou for ever great, forever great and free,
The land of love and liberty.

Beneath thy spreading mantle vine,
Beside thy flow'ry groves and springs,

And on thy lofty, thy lofty mountains' brow,

May all thy sons and fair ones sing,

Be thou forever great, &c.

From thee may hated Discord fly,
With all her dark and dreary train ;,

And whilst thy mighty, thy mighty waters roll,

May heart endearing concord reign.

Be thou for ever great, &c.