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LOCH-LONG.

BY S. ROGERS, ESQ.

Upon another shore I stood,
And look’ upon another flood,*.
Great Ocean's self! 'tis he who fills

That vast and awful depth of hills,
Where many an elf was playing round,
Who treads unshod his classic ground,
And speaks his native rocks among,
As Fingal spoke and Ossian sung.
Night fell; and dark and darker grew

That narrow sea, that narrow sky, As o'er the glimmering waves we flew,

The sea-bird rustling, wailing by. . And now the grampus half descry'd Black and huge above the tide ; The cliffs and promontories there, Front to front, and broad and bare, Each beyond each with giant feet, Advancing as in haste to meet, The shatter'd fortress, where the Dane Blew his shrill blast, nor rush'd in vain, Tyrant of the drear domain. All into midnight shadow sweep, When day springs upward from the deep,

Kindling the waters in its flight; The prow wakes splendor, and the var Thật rose and fell unseen before,

Flashes in a sea of light!

* Loch-Long.

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Glad sign and sure; for now we hail' i
Thy flowers, Glenfinart, in the gale, ... ,
And bright indeed the path should be ...
That leads to friendship, and to thee!
Oh, blest retreat, and sacred too,

Sacred as when the bell of prayer.

Toll’d duly on the desart air,
And crosses deck'd thy summit blue;
Oft like some lov'd romantic tale,

Oft shall my weary mind recall,
Amid the hum and stir of men,

The beachen grave, and waterfall, ...,

Thy ferry, with its gliding sail,
And Here—the Lady of the Glen!,

To a very homely, but vain young Lady.

Celia, why put two patches on ?

Is it for ornament or grace ?
Take my advice, wear only one,

And let it cover all your face.

Epitaph for the Right Hon. William Windham..

Ye sacred stones, by English mourners prest,
Where Fox and Chatham's son in concord rest,
Open your vaults, and at their honour'd side
Place the third prop of England's falling pride.
What worthy claimant of this hallow'd tomb
Lives yet to check his country's awful doom?
Close, close your vaults, ye stones for ever close,
Where Glory's last triumvirate repose.

Oh! timely called to share the Patriot's grave,
Nor see the ruin'd state thou couldst not save,
Windham, adieu ! by all the good approv'd,
By Johnson honour'd, and by Burke belov'd.
In Truth's decay to high-soul'd virtue true,
Thou setting star of ancient fame, adieu ! .

What prescient terrors at thy loss arise ! What tears of sorrow fill Reflection's eyes! Who now remains, with treasur'd learning fraught, . To wake, like thee, the teeming world of thought ? Who now remains, in rival ardour strong, To roll the tide of eloquence along? Prompt at thy call, creative Fancy came, And Reason bore thee on her wings of flame : Fancy, unfelt by Slavery's venal crew, Reason too bright for Dullness' owlet view. Rejoin, blest shade, the sons of Genius fled, And swell the synod of the virtuous dead : Rever'd companion of the good and wise, Reseek thy lov'd precursors in the skies.

The Last Token; or, Remember Me.

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WRITTEN ON THE PRINCESS AMELIA'S MOURNFUL

PRESENT TO HIS MAJESTY.

· By Peter Pindar, Esq.

With all the virtues blest, and every grace,
To charm the world, and dignify her race,
Life's taper losing fast its feeble fire,
The fair Amelia thus bespoke her Sire :-.

Faint on the bed of sickness lying,

My spirit from its mansion flying,
Not long the light these languid eyes will see ;

My Friend, my Father, and my King,

O wear a daughter's mournful ring, i Receive the token, and remember me !

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Religious Fanaticism in Sicily.-Extract of a private letter from Messina, December 14.We were all witnesses of an event which might have produced fatal consequences. On the 10th, the communion cup, with the host, was plundered from the church of St. Auforne. The whole town was in movement; the people ordered the gates', to be shut; neither coffee-house, nor shop, nor theatre were left open. The streets were crowded with processions, and the church-bells set a ringing. The populace obliged the old infirm Archbishop to accompany the processions; he had at last the good fortune to escape in a convent. The people were absolutely furious; they passed through the city with torches, menaced to set fire to the houses of the unbelievers, and committed a thousand extravagancies, which would have ended it is impossible to say where, if some of the municipality had not adroitly spread the report that the communion cup, &o. had been found. The whole population exclaimed, Nostro Signore si e trovato, and returned to their own abodes. Some houses were pillaged, and some individuals ill-treated. The day after, when the VOL. 1.

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falsity of the report was known, the people, who showed symptoms of wishing to recommence the preceding scenes, were restrained by the presence of the troops of the line, and the campagnon, or militia, who had been prudently assembled. The processions, however, continue every day, nor do they dare to open the tribunals or shops, to work in the port, &c. Even the soldiers have covered their arms with crepe."

A letter from Messina, of a later date, announces, that the cup has been really found, and tranquillity entirely re-established..

Singular Anecdote.—(Extracted from Carr's Travels round the Baltic. The house, or rather cottage, in which Peter the Great resided, during the foundation of Petersburgh, a city which is the growth of little more than a century, stands on the left of the Emperor's bridge, in the road to the fortress. This little building, so sacred to the Russians, was covered over with a brick building of arcades by the late Empress, to protect and support it against the ravages of time. The rooms are three, all upon the ground floor, and very low; it was in this very cottage that a whimsical scene occurred whilst the fortress was building.

A Dutch skipper, hearing that Petersburgh was building, and that the Emperor had a great passion for ships and commerce, resolved to try his good fortune there, and accordingly arrived with

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