O mildly on the British stage, Great Anarch! spread thy sable wings; Not fired with all the frantic rage, With which thou hurl'st thy darts at kings.

As thou in native garb art seen, With scattered tresses, haggard mien, Sepulchral chains and hideous cry By despot arts immur'd in ghastly poverty.

In specious form, dread Queen! appear; Let falsehood fill the dreary waste; Thy democratic rant be here, To fire the brain, corrupt the taste.

The fair, by vicious love misled, Teach me to cherish and to wed, To low-born arrogance to bend, Establish'd order spurn, and call each outcast friend.

_Port Folio_, I-92, Feb. 15, 1806, Phila.

THE SWEDISH COTTAGE.

From Carr's Northern Summer.

Here, far from all the pomp ambition seeks, Much sought, but only whilst untasted prais'd, Content and Innocence, with rosy cheeks, Enjoy the simple shed their hands have rais'd.

On a gay rock it stands, whose fretted base The distant cataract's murm'ring waters lave; Whilst, o'er its gra.s.sy roof, with varying grace, The slender branches of the white birch wave.

Behind, the forest fir is heard to sigh, On which the pensive ear delights to dwell; And, as the gazing stranger pa.s.ses by, The grazing goat looks up and rings his bell.

Oh! in my native land, ere life's decline, May such a spot, so wild, so sweet, be mine!

_Weekly Visitant_, I-63, Feb. 22, 1806, Salem.

[Sir John Carr, _A Northern Summer; or Travels round the Baltic in 1804_, London, 1805.]

ODE TO DEATH.

By Frederick II, King of Prussia. Translated from the French by Dr.

Hawkesworth.

_Polyanthos_, I-270, Mar. 1806, Boston.

[Also in _New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag._, I-339, Dec. 7, 1786, New Haven.]

THE DANCING BEAR. A FABLE.

[Perhaps suggested by Gellert's fable of the same t.i.tle, but differing much in content. Cf. _Port Folio_, I-400, Dec. 12, 1801, Phila., where a translation of Gellert's poem is given.]

_Emerald_, I-118, July 5, 1806, Boston.

The following song by M. G. Lewis Esq. is, as we are apprized by that gentleman, derived from the _French_, though the swain who figures in it appears to be a German. The thought is pretty and the measure flowing.

A wolf, while Julia slept, had made Her favorite lamb his prize; Young Casper flew to give his aid, Who heard the trembler's cries.

He drove the wolf from off the green, But claim'd a kiss for pay.

Ah! Julia, better 'twould have been, Had Casper staid away.

While grateful feelings warm'd her breast, She own'd she loved the swain; The youth eternal love professed, And kiss'd and kiss'd again.

A fonder pair was never seen; They lov'd the live long day: Ah! Julia, better 'twould have been, Had Casper staid away.

At length, the sun his beams withdrew, And night inviting sleep, Fond Julia rose and bade adieu, Then homeward drove her sheep.

Alas! her thoughts were chang'd, I ween, For thus I heard her say; Ah! Julia, better 'twould have been, Had Casper staid away.

_Port Folio_, II-94, Aug. 16, 1806, Phila.

EXTRACTS FROM "THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND"

by James Montgomery, London, 1806.

_Port Folio_, II-369, 412, Dec. 20, 31, 1806, Phila.

[James Montgomery, _The Wanderer of Switzerland and Other Poems_, London, 1806. The first American edition from the second London edition--N. Y., 1807.

Extracts from Parts VI and I respectively. Cf. Preface.]

RUNIC ODE.

THE HAUNTING OF HAVARDUR.

By C. Leftly, Esq.

Son of Angrym, warrior bold, Stay thy travel o'er the wold; Stop, Havardur, stop thy steed; Thy death, thy b.l.o.o.d.y death's decreed.

She, Coronzon's lovely maid, Whom thy wizard wiles betray'd, Glides along the darken'd coast, A frantic, pale, enshrouded ghost.

Where the fisher dries his net, Rebel waves her body beat; Seduc'd by thee, she toss'd her form To the wild fury of the storm.

Know thou feeble child of dust, Odin's brave, and Odin's just; From the Golden Hall I come To p.r.o.nounce thy fatal doom; Never shall thou pa.s.s the scull Of rich metheglin deep and full: Late I left the giant throng, Yelling loud thy funeral song; Imprecating deep and dread Curses on thy guilty head.

Soon with Lok, thy tortur'd soul, Must in boiling billows roll; Till the G.o.d's eternal light Bursts athwart thy gloom of night; Till Surtur gallops from afar, To burn this breathing world of war.

Bold to brave the spear of death, Heroes hurry o'er the heath: Hasten to the smoking feast-- Welcome every helmed guest, Listen hymns of sweet renown, Battles by thy fathers won; Frame thy face in wreathed smiles, Mirth the moodiest mind beguiles.-- Yet I hover always nigh, Bid thee think,--and bid thee sigh; Yet I goad thy rankling breast;-- Never, never, shalt thou rest.

What avails thy bossy shield?

What the guard thy gauntlets yield?

What the morion on thy brow?

Or the hauberk's rings below?

If to live in anguish fear, Danger always threatening near: Lift on high thy biting mace, See him glaring in thy face; Turn--yet meet him, madd'ning fly, Curse thy coward soul, and die.

Not upon the field of fight Hela seals thy lips in night; A brother, of infernal brood, Bathes him in thy heart's hot blood; Twice two hundred va.s.sals bend, Hail him as their guardian friend; Mock thee writhing with the wound, Bid thee bite the dusty ground; Leave thee suffering, scorn'd alone, To die unpitied and unknown.

Be thy nacked carcase strew'd, To give the famish'd eagles food; Sea-mews screaming on the sh.o.r.e, Dip their beaks, and drink thy gore.

Be thy fiend-fir'd spirit borne, Wreck'd upon the fiery tide, An age of agony abide.

But soft, the morning-bell beats one, The glow-worm fades; and, see, the sun Flashes his torch behind yon hill.

At night, when wearied nature's still, And horror stalks along the plain, Remember--we must meet again.

_Port Folio_, II-415, Dec. 31, 1806, Phila.

Burger's beautiful ballad,

Earl Walter winds his bugle horn, To horse! to horse! halloo! halloo!.

has given rise in England to a very humorous

PARODY.

Mirth, with thee I mean to live.