Insult my sorrows with their merriest notes.
The forest green, and every budding plant,
Flowers, and the springing blade, and mantling vine,
All the full blessing of the spring enjoy ;

And to my soul new melancholy add.

My tears incessant flow!-Alas! how sad,
How desolate is life; when but to think
On those whom most we love, afflicts us most.

The soft and gently-pleasing woe,
Which two fond hearts, divided, know,

The soul with sweetest suffering moves;
But oh! when guilt with absence joins,
Grief it to agony refines,

And fires to rage the breast that loves.

[She goes out.

The Hermitage. EDWIN and ANGELINA discovered sitting in the entrance of the cell a small table spread, and covered with various fruits.

EDWIN.

Is happiness thy wish? here rest; here dwell.
Remote from courts, and palaces, and kings;
From domes of grandeur, and from halls of wealth;
Far from the poisonous city's busy hum;
From Passion's reign, and fierce Ambition's war,
Borne on the winnowing gale, flies Happiness.
She loves, with Peace her sister, to reside
In cottages and vales; by running streams;
In woods; and on the cliff's rude, hanging brow:
For there, if yet, perchance, on earth they dwell,
Meets she Integrity, and sober Toil;

And Innocence, and sweet Simplicity:

And oft the Hermit's cell she deigns to visit;
With Piety her guide, and mild Repose
Her fair attendant.

ACT THIRD. SCENE VII.

Chorus.

Now burst the shout of joy around,
And let the forest wide resound.
Peace henceforth for ever reigns;
And laughing Plenty loads our plains:
Then burst the shout of joy around,
And let the forest wide resound.

Burst, then, the shout of joy around,
And let the forest wide resound.

The waters of the living fount,

Dashed in cascades, in columns tossed,
Nor nurse the root, nor swell the blade,
Wasted in foam, dispersed, and lost;
But, issuing in a gentle stream,

Through smiling meads, rejoicing stray;
Perennial flow, and fruits and flowers,
And living verdure, mark their way:

Chorus.

Loud burst the shouts of joy around,
And plains and forests wide resound.

EDWIN.

The mineral sleeping in the mine,
Decks not the board, nor glows in coin,
While droop the languid arts;
Refined its power, where'er it flies
Bids new-born wonders round arise,
New energy imparts;

Chorus.

While burst the shouts of joy around,
And plains and busy shores resound.

ANGELINA.

The meteor gilds the face of night,
The pilgrim trusts the faithless light,
And sinks in lonely death;

But, by the moon's serener ray,
Unharmed the wanderer speeds his way,
O'er many an unknown heath;
Chorus.

And swells the notes of joy around,
And bids the peaceful shades resound.

SIFRID.

When, armed with terror, through the sky The lightnings flash, the thunders roar; When rush the tempests from on high,

Howl o'er the sea, and sweep the shore; The whelmed ship sinks, the cottage falls, And ruin every heart appals:

But when the lively breezes blow,

And fan, with gentle gales, the land;

Or bid their airy currents flow,

And swell the sail that quits the strand; Smooth glides the ship, the cottage smiles, And gay content each heart beguiles;

Chorus.

While bursts the shout of joy around,

And earth and heaven the strain resound.

WILLIAM RAY.

[Born 1771. Died 1827.]

WILLIAM RAY was born at Salisbury, on the 9th of December, 1771. At a very early age he developed poetical talents, which, under more favorable circumstances, and with better advantages of education, might have placed his name among the most eminent writers of his day. His father removed to a remote town in the state of New York, where the son had little opportunity of gratifying his inclination for literary pursuits. At the age of nineteen, he left the paternal roof and removed to Dover, in Duchess County, New York, where he assumed the charge of a school. He soon abandoned this occupation, and engaged in trade, which he pursued for a number of years. His commercial speculations proved unsuccessful, and finally issued in bankruptcy. Finding it impossible to obtain a release from his creditors, or to procure employment for the support of himself and wife, he left his home in the spring of 1803, and started for Philadelphia, in search of some congenial occupation. He travelled through the state of Pennsylvania under circumstances of great distress, and with but very slender pecuniary resources. He was overtaken by sickness: his last cent was expended: and he at length reached Philadelphia in a state of extreme destitution, and not yet restored to a comfortable degree of health. Here new trials awaited him. He failed to procure employment, and, impelled by his necessities, on the 13th of June, 1803, enlisted into the maritime service of the United States. Our author seems to admit "that imprudence, vice, intemperance, and prodigality, were the primary cause of his misfortunes ;" and pleads that "the miseries and horrors of a painful mancipation, and a thousand concomitant evils and sufferings, ought, in some degree, to expiate his faults and follies in the benignant eyes of Charity."

On the 3d of July, RAY and his comrades were ordered on board the frigate Philadelphia, under the command of Captain BAINBRIDGE, destined to join our squadron against Tripoli. She sailed in the course of the same month, having on board a complement of three hundred men. The frigate proceeded prosperously on her voyage, and arrived at Gibraltar on the 26th of August. Here she remained

a few days, and was joined by several American ships of the line. Information being received that a vessel with Barbary colors was cruizing off the "Rock," the Philadelphia went in pursuit of her, under English colors. The stranger was easily captured, and proved to be a Morocco vessel mounting twenty-two guns, and containing about one hundred men. The prize had captured an American brig, which the Philadelphia, on the following day, overtook and re-captured, liberating her crew from their bondage. The frigate, in company with the prize and brig, then returned to Gibraltar. In October the Philadelphia proceeded to the island of Malta, and from thence sailed for Tripoli. On the 31st day of October she fell in with an enemy's vessel off the harbor of Tripoli, and gave chase. The pirate stood in for the town, and the frigate made every effort to cut off her retreat. Having no pilot on board who understood the harbor, and becoming excited in the pursuit, the Americans ventured in too far, and when about three miles distant from the town, their vessel struck upon a shoal, and remained fast. Every effort was made, though in vain, to release her, while the enemy, emboldened by her condition, sent off three gun-boats against her. It was a little past twelve o'clock when the frigate struck, and her crew continued firing at the boats, and using every means to get their ship afloat, until four o'clock in the afternoon, when, unable to escape or longer to resist, they struck their flag, and the Philadelphia was consigned to her piratical victors. The enemy immediately boarded her, when convinced that she had, in reality, surrendered, and the officers and crew were soon escorted into the presence of their new master, the Bashaw of Tripoli.

From this period, for more than a year and a half, the history of RAY and his comrades is a tale of sad captivity and hardship. The officers of the Philadelphia suffered much from confinement, and the want of proper nourishment; but the greatest misery was allotted to the unfortunate crew. Stripped of almost all their clothing, reduced to so pitiful an allowance of food that life could scarcely be sustained, they were driven forth in bands to the performance of the most incredible labors; and when sickness necessarily succeeded to such unnatural exertions, the wretched captives received from their tyrants only threats and blows. At one time we find many of them employed to raise a wreck of a vessel, deeply sunken in the sand. At the coldest season of the year they are forced into the water at sunrise, and compelled to shovel the sand from the bottom, and carry it in baskets to the bank. Once throughout the day they are allowed a scanty meal, when they resume their labors until sunset, and then return to their prison to pass the night upon the damp earth, and await the horrors of the succeeding day. Again, at another season, many of them are compelled, barefooted and almost naked, to drag a