LXXVII.

PROSPECTS OF AMERICA.*

(By Dr. Dwight, a Native Poet.)

Columbia Columbia! to glory arise,

Thou Queen of the World, and thou child of the skies,
Thy Genius commands thee, with raptures behold,

While ages on ages thy splendours unfold.
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of Time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime;
Let the crimes of the East ne'er incrimson thy name,
Be Freedom and Science, and Virtue, thy fame.

To conquest and slaughter, let Europe aspire,
Whelm nations in blood, wrap cities in fire,
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend,
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend;
A World is thy realm; for a world be thy laws,
Enlarg'd as thy empire and just as thy cause,
On Freedom's broad basis that Empire shall rise;
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.

* National honour, independence, and prosperity, form a pleasing theme both for the attention and celebration of the bard. They are not only exceedingly fertile, and thus present most ample scope for the exercise of his invention; they are also recommended by every consideration which can warm the heart or elevate the affections. Among the various productions which have been dedicated to this purpose, the present, though short, is

Y

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,

And the East see thy Morn hide the beams of her star;
New Bards and new Sages unrivall'd shall soar,

By Fame still distinguish'd when time is no more.
To thee the last refuge of Virtue's design'd,
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind,
There, grateful to Heav'n, with transport shall bring
Their incense more fragrant than odours of Spring.

Nor less shall thy fair ones to Glory ascend,
And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend ;
Their graces of form shall wake pure desire,

And the charms of the soul still enliven the fire:
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined,
And Virtue's bright image instamped on the mind,
With peace and sweet rapture shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile on the aspect of woe.

nevertheless conspicuous. It displays, in a very impressive manner, the sincere wishes and anticipations of the Patriot, expressed with all the fervour and enthusiasm of the Poet.

The particular circumstance respecting the poem, to which we would direct the attention of our readers, is, that it was composed for the express purpose of vindicating the honour of a nation. A considerable number of years ago a paragraph appeared in a periodical paper belonging to this country, which contained some hints that America either had not, or could not produce a native poet. These insinuations were, however, soon after disproved by the exertions of a Mr. Dwight, who published this poem, and designed himself, as we have done, in the title, "A native poet." Of this gentleman, however, we have not been able to obtain any particular information, nor have we, at least as far as is known to us, been favoured with any other displays of his poetical talents.

Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display,
The nations admire, and the ocean obey;

Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,

And the East and the South yield their spices and gold;
As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendours shall flow,
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow;
While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled,
Hush Anarchy's sway, and give peace to the world.

Thus, as down a lone valley, 'mid the poplar's soft shade, From the din of the city, I pensively strayed

The gloom from the face of fair Heav'n retired,

The winds ceased to murmur, the thunders expired;
Perfumes, as of Eden, flowed sweetly along,

And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung :

Columbia Columbia! to glory arise,

Thou Queen of the World, and thou child of the skies.

LXXVIII.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

Sleep on, and dream of heaven awhile,
Though shut so close thy laughing eyes;

Thy rosy lips still wear a smile,

And move and breathe delicious sighs.

Ah! now soft blushes tinge her cheeks,
And mantle to her neck of snow !
Ah! now she murmurs, now she speaks,
What most I wish, yet fear to know.

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps!
Her fair hands folded on her breast,
And now, how like a saint she sleeps,

A seraph in the realms of rest!

Sleep on, secure, above control,

Thy thoughts belong to heaven and thee,

And may the secrets of thy soul

Be held in reverence by me.

LXXIX.

O POORTITH CAULD AND RESTLESS LOVE.

AIR. "I had a horse," &c.

O poortith cauld, and restless love,
Ye wreck my peace between ye;
Yet poortith a' I could forgive,
And 'twere na for my Jeanie,

O why should fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love,
Depend on fortune's shining.

This warld's wealth when I think on, Its pride, and a' the lave o't;

Fie, fie on silly coward man,

That he should be the slave o't.
O why should fate, &c.

Her een sae bonnie blue, betray
How she repays my passion;
But prudence is her o'erword aye,
She talks o' rank and fashion.
O why should fate, &c.

O wha can prudence think upon,
And sic a lassie by him?
O wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am?

O why should fate, &c.

How blest the humble cottar's fate!
He wooes his simple dearie;
The silly bogles, wealth and state,

Can never make him eerie.

O why should fate, &c.