The trees in the green wood bowed low as he uttered,

And the wing of the raven grew helpless and fluttered;

The ivy-clad battlements shook at his name,
And the hills and the valleys rejoiced at his fame;
By Wamber and Gurth the great bard was at-
tended,

ad the noble Black Sluggard who Wilfrid defended;

Rebecca, the lovely and patient, stood near him, And Rowena, the proud, was obliged to revere him;

The Templar, abashed, dar'd no longer be bold, And Isaac, the Jew, safely hugg'd up his gold. Meg Merriles wove the dark web at her leisure, And Ochiltree wandered about at his pleasure; Whilst the Minstrels chaunted, in tones sweet and wild,

All hail Walter Scott! Immortality's child !"

Now a far different scene took my curious eye,
Twas Byron, wrapped up in deep melancholy,
On the desolate shore his sad form lay reclin'd,
And his countenance shewed the dark state of his
mind;

The Bride of Abydos in vain tried to cheer him ; The sweet notes of Leilla, no more could endear him;

The Corsair alone, with his look of distraction,

Could give to his agonised soul satisfaction;
And Harold's lament set his bursting heart free,
When a strain of soft melody rose from the sea;
And voices, all liquid with pity and love,
Sang-"Great bard, for the cure of thy grief,
look above!"

Now Leigh Hunt appeared in a garden of flow

ers,

The sun warmly playing to dry up the showers; Young roses and woodbines entwin'd into wreathes, And the hearts-ease shewed meekly its brown and gold leaves;

The daisy, old Chaucer's gay favorite, looked bright,

But the innocent primrose shrank back from the light:

The jessamine shed its sweet odour around, And all that was lovely sprang up from the ground.

A crowd of fine heads, with laurel green ever, (For genius from genius the gods will not sever,) Surrounded Leigh Hunt, and their blest conversation,

Made his garden of flowers an inspired habita

tion;

Amongst them was Dante, and Petrarch the tender,

And Tasso, and Tell the intrepid defender:
Ariosto, and Spenser, and Rome's Antonius,
And Milton, and others, who've helped to refine

THE ROSE;

From Madame de GENLIS' "Petrarch and
Laura." Translated by Sidney Walker, Esq.,
Trinity College, Cambridge.

SWEET emanation of the power
That made all good, delightful flower!
Thy blushing bud was meant to be
The pledge of Peace, and Love, and Glee':
And how can thy meek graces blow,
Amidst a gloomy world of woe?
Then wherefore yet thy charms disclose?
Stay, yet awhile, thou lovely Rose !

For war o'er all our fields hath past;
And breath'd around his poisoning blast;
And from the desolated waste
Away the timid graces haste:

And far and wide, with tears and gore,
Palace and Cot are sprinkled o'er:
Then wherefore yet thy charms disclose?
Stay, yet awhile, thou lovely Rose!

Sweet Stranger! in this joyless land,
Where shall thy gentle charms expand?
Where wilt thou find a guiltless breast,
On which thy cherish'd form to rest?
Or where a yet unplunder'd shrine,
Round which thy hallow'd leaves to twine?
Then wherefore yet thy charms disclose?
Stay, yet awhile, thou lovely Rose!

This world is all by war defaced:
Go, flourish in the desert waste,
There, if beside some fountain lone,
Thy sweets are shed unseen, unknown,
Yet there the bloody hand of War
Shall ne'er approach, thy form to mar:
Then wherefore here thy charms disclose?
Go, bloom elsewhere, thou lovely Rose'!

But when on our long-wasted shore
The guardian Olive blooms once more,
When War's destroying tempests cease,
Then may'st thou join the wreath of Peace,
And mingle with the laurel bough,
Around the patriot victor's brow:
Then Child of Morning! then arise,
Then show thee to thy parent skies.

LINES

Suggested by the death of a beautiful young Lady, in the 15th year of her age.

THO' reckon'd in the month of May,
"Twas cold, and Spring disown'd the day,
A Rose, untutor'd in the clime,
Had prematurely reach'd its prime,
Look'd for the Summer with a blush-
But look'd, alas! and blush'd in vain ;
Old Winter hobbled back again,
And envious that it blossom'd so,'
Instead of sunshine, gave it snow;

Presented with a Rose-bud to a young Lady, who appeared at a fancy ball, in the character of Flora..

SWEET bud, whose forward bloom displays

The promise of a beauteous flower, May no rude blight thy freshness seize ! No worm thy tender leaf devour!

Light fall the rains upon thy head,

Safe be thy beauty from the storm,

"Till Spring's soft breath thy blossom spread,
And May unfold thy perfect form!
So sweet to smell, so fair to view,

Thy ripen'd glow shall long be seen;
And every flower that drinks the dew,
Shall bow in homage to its Queen.

ON DEATH.

HARK, my gay friend, that solemn toll,
Speaks the departure of a soul!
'Tis gone-that's all-we know not where,
Or how the unbodied soul does fare;
In that mysterious world none knows,
But God alone, to whom it goes,
To whom departed souls return,
To take their doom-to smile or mourn,
We talk of Heaven-we talk of Hell,
But what they mean no tongue can tell;
Heaven is the realm where angels are,
And Hell the chaos of despair;
But what those awful words imply,
None of us know before we die:
Whether we will or not, we must
Take the succeeding world on trust.-
This hour, perhaps, our friend is well;
The next we hear his passing knell!
He dies, and then, for ought we see,
Ceases at once to breathe and be.
Swift flies the soul-perhaps 'tis gone
A thousand leagues beyond the sub,
Or twice ten thousand more-thrice told,
Ere the forsaken clay is cold.
And yet who knows, if friends we loved,
Tho' dead, may be far off removed,
Only this veil of flesh between,
Perhaps they watch us tho' unseen;
And yet no notices they give,
Nor tell us where or how they live;
Though conscious whilst with us below,
How much themselves desired to know.

misse,

For Love loves moste when love moste secrete is.

The rarest jewels hidden virtue yielde;

The swete of traffique is a secrete gaine The yeare once old dothe shewe a barren fielde; And plants seeme dede, and yet they springo againe.

Cupide is blinde;—the reason why, is this, Love loves moste when love moste secrete is. Loudon: Printed for the Proprietors by H.Hewitt, 145, High Holborn, Published at 42, Holywellstreet, Strand; and sold by Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, Paternoster-row; Simpkin and Mar

shall, Stationers'-court; and may be had of all

Booksellers.

12. VOL. II.]

Anecdotes.

CANDID CULPRIT.

Duke of Ossuna, Viceroy of Naples, sing through Barcelona, and having got e to release some slaves, went on board the De Galley, and passing through the crew of es, he asked several of them what their aces were? Every one excused himself in several pretences; one said he was put out of malice, another by bribery of the ge; but all of them unjustly. Among the there was one sturdy little black man, on the duke questioned as to what he was re for. "My lord," said he, "I cannot y but I am justly put in here; for I wanted ary, and so took a purse near Tarragona, keep me from starving." The duke on aring this, gave him two or three blows on shoulder with his stick, saying, "You e, what are you doing among so many Best men? Get you out of their company. ie poor fellow was then set at liberty, while rest were left to tug at the oar.

[PRICE 6d

though he had still the mortification to leave his family prisoners.

When his own safety was insured, he negociated with the Pacha for the liberty of his wife and children, but in vain. All other methods failing, he determined to write: and his letter is a curious specimen of social feeling, operating on a rugged mind and ardent disposition. It was in these terms:

"I am informed, O Pacha of Bosnia! that you complain of my escape; but I put it to yourself, what would you have done in my place? Would you have suffered yourself to be bound with cords like a miserable beast, and led without resistance by men, who, as soon as they arrived at a certain place, would in all probability have put you to death? Nature impels us to avoid destruction, and I have only acted in obedience to her laws.

“Tell me, Pacha, what crime have my wife and children committed, that, in spite of law and justice, you should retain them like slaves? Perhaps you hope to render me more submissive; but you cannot surely expect that I shall return to you, and hold forth my arms to be loaded with fresh chains? No, you do but deceive yourself, and render me more terrible than before. Hear me then, Pacha; you may exhaust on them all your fury, without producing the least advantage. On my part I declare, I will wreak my vengeance on all the Turks, your subjects, who may fall into my hands; and I will omit no means of injuring you. For the love of God, restore to me, I beseech you, my blood. Obtain my pardon from my sovereign, and no longer retain in your memory my past offences. I promise that I will then leave your subjects in tranquility, and even serve them as a guide when necessary.

"If you refuse me this favour, expect from me all that despair can prompt. I will assemble my friends, carry destruction wherever you reside. pillage your property, plunder your merchants; and from this moment, if you pay no attention to my intreaties, I swear that I will massacre every Turk that falls into my hands."

The Pacha did not think proper to pay any attention to the letter of a highway robber, and Socivizca was not slow in carrying into effect the vow he had made. He desolated the country, giving proofs of a prodigious valour; insomuch that the people were obliged

to entreat the Pacha to deliver them from so great a scourge, by sending back his wife and children. The Pacha, however was inexorable, and it was only by a fortunate co-operation of force and stratagem, of the particulars of which we are not correctly informed, that he succeeded at last in obtaining the liberty of his family.

Shortly after his troop took prisoner a Turk, who had favoured the escape of one of Socivizca's brothers. The brother, in opposition to the wish of the chief and the rest of the band, was anxious to return the favour. The captive was destined to die; but the grateful robber, while Socivizca was at prayers, a ce. remony he never omitted before meals, set him at liberty. All the band were outrageous against the brother of Socivizea, and one of his nephews carried his resentment so far, as to give him a blow; the indignant uncle drew a pistol, and killed the aggressor on the spot; Socivizca at the same time expelled his brother from the troop; and after performing the fu neral obsequies of his nephew, felt so great a degree of mortification, that he determined to pass the remainder of his days in retire

But the habits of a long life are not so easily changed; after a short retreat, Socivizca suddenly resumed his system of hostilities against the Turks.

Yet how instructive is the sequel of this extraordinary man's life! After as many massacres and robberies as would have outweighed the souls of a thousand men, he found himself in possession of no more than six hundred sequins; part of this sum he confided to a friend, and part to a cousin, both of whom absconded with their respective deposits.

At length, in 1775, the Emperor Joseph 11. passing by Grazach, was desirous to see him; he had him brought into his presence, and made him repeat the chief events of his life; after which, besides making him a considerable present in money, he appointed him to the post of Anambassa of Fandours.

THEODORE, KING OF CORSICA.

THIS unhappy monarch, whose courage and enterprise had raised him to a throne, not by a succession of bloody acts, but by the free choice of an oppressed nation, for many years struggled with fortune, and left no means untried which indefatigable policy or solicitation of succours could attempt, to recover his crown; at length he chose for his retirement a country where he might enjoy the participation of that liberty, which he had so vainly endeavoured to secure to the Corsicans; but his situation in London by degrees grew wretched, and he was reduced so low, as to be several years

before his death a prisoner for debt in the King's Bench.

Theodore told a friend of his in London as an instance of the superstition of mankind that there was a very high mountain in Ce sica, which was carefully avoided from a long received opinion, that whoever ascended d would be unhappy and unsuccessful in all his future undertakings. Theodore, in order to convince them of the weakness of such a be lief, in spite of their remonstrances, insiste on climbing the fatal mountain; on the of which he found a beautiful plain, and great quantity of game, so tame that he coul take them with his hands.

To the honour of some private persons. charitable contribution was set on foot for bi in 1753. And in 1757, at the expence of gentleman, a marble was erected to bis rue mory in the church-yard of St. Ann's, West minster, with the following inscription:

Near this place is interred
THEODORE, KING OF CORSICA,
Who died in this parish December 11, 1756,
Immediately after leaving

The King's Bench Prison,
By the benefit of the Act of Insolvency.
In consequence of which,
He registered his kingdom of Corsica

For the use of his creditors.

The grave, great teacher, to a level brings
Heroes and beggars, ganey-slaves and Alag
But Theodore tuis moral learn'd ere dead,
Fate pour'd its lesson on his living head,
Bestow'd a kingdom, and denied him bread