or two waiting for that which rarely lasts a minute. Yours, &c. TRAVESTY. 1 Epigram. Says Talley to Nap, a resource I espy, That completely, I think, all my other schemes flogs, The country we'll drive-cry the d-d English dogs; But they lie, the dull rogues; all their arts I defy. They may drive off their oxen, their sheep, and their But their ponds and their ditches our wants will supply: QUIZ. Anacreon Moore.-From a New York Paper, July 9. Thomas Moore, known by his elegant translation of Anacreon, lately left this city on an expedition to view the falls of Niagara. The polite and distinguished attention shewn to this youthful poet by the people of Philadelphia, made a forcible impression on his feelings, and drew from him the following impromptu lines, a day or two previous to his departure from that city : Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd, And bright were its flowery banks to his eye, ▾ Oh nature! tho' blessed and bright are thy rays, In a smile from the heart that is dearly our own. Unblest by the smile he had languish'd to meet, Oh scarce did he hope it would bless him again, Till the threshold of home had been kiss'd by his feet. But the lays of his boyhood had stol'n to their ear, And they lov'd what they knew of so humble a name, And they told him (with flattery welcome and dear,) That they found in his heart something dearer than fame. Nor did woman-Oh! woman, whose form and whose soul Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue, Whether sunn'd in the tropic, or chill'd at the pole, If woman be there, there is happiness tooNor did she her enamouring magic deny : That magic his heart had relinquish'd so long; Like eyes he had lov'd was her eloquent eye, Like them did it soften and weep at his Oh blest be the tear, and in memory soft song. ** May its sparkle be shed o'er his wandering dream, Oh blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, The stranger is gone-but he will not forget When at home he shall talk of the toils he has known, To tell with a sigh what endearments he met, As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone. * Mr. Moore here alludes to an occurrence during his visit at Philadelphia. He obliged a company of friends with a little plaintive song, which he sung with such exquisite taste and pathos, as drew tears from one of the ladies present. America.-The Boston Humane Society lately celebrated the anniversary of their institution. After the election of officers, and other business of the anniversary, the society went in procession to the chapel church, where, after prayers, by the Rev. Mr. Gray, a scientific discourse, embracing the great objects of the society, was pronounced by Dr. John C. Howard; and the following original Ode, written by R. T. Paine, jun. esq. was sung by Mrs. Jones. O'er the swift flowing stream, as the tree broke in air, No ear heard his shriek; faint with toil and despair, RECITATIVE. See humanity's angel alight on the scene! Tho' the shadows of death have dissembled his mien, AIR-LARGO MAESTOSO. Spirit of the Vital Flame! Touch with life his marble frame! From the day-star's radiant choir Bring thy torch of quenchless fire, ALLEGRO. Hither, sparkling cherub, fly! To human prayer benignant heaven MAESTOSO. Spirit of the Vital Flame! A mother's tears with rapture burn! ALLEGRO ASSAI. Behold, the quick'ning spirit raise The trembling limb, the wandering gaze! Religion's triumph, nature's tear, Almighty Power, thy hand is here! While fair religion keeps her standard here, Lines on the Funeral Procession of the late Lord Nelson, January 9, 1806. See where the Britons crowd with solemn state! Behold them clad, each in a sable vest, By outward signs their inward grief exprest. He's gone-the terror of the tyrant shore, But a more sure, more priz'd, more honor'd place, We own that God has not our land bereft ; |