With sudden shock the huge arches rock,
Loud pealing thunders roar,

When a bright being came like the lightning's flame,
Nor enter'd by window, or door.

His wings were of the raven's plume,

With sun-beams his temples were bound, His all-piercing eye none dar'd to descry— They shudder'd, and fell on the ground.

On their knees they fell, and their beads they tell,
O'ercome with terror and dread,-

When waving his hand in majestic command,
Th' avenging angel said:

"These wonders dark in silence mark, "Which line Sir Archibald's tomb,

"Them awe-struck behold, when by me you are told "They're the symbols of his doom.

"Now molten lead is pour'd on his head,
"Of his body corroding each part,
"Tortur'd in fire, see! he cannot expire,

"Yet mill-stones grind his heart.

"For while on earth, even from his birth,

"No Baron so cruel as he ;

"But the streams of blood, which he shed like a flood,

"Shall now avenged be."

As a beam of light, he shot from sight,
Full swiftly the vision withdrew,

The tapers went out, as the Arch-Angels shout.
Extinguish'd the vapour of blue.

Now all was dark, and all was mute,

Each cold as a corpse in his shroud,
If another they feel, their spirits congeal,
They shrink back, and shriek aloud.

Each luckless wight with out-stretched arms,
When he reach'd the church-door wide,
Ran fleet as wind, nor look'd behind,
'Till he stood at his own fire-side.

With terrors deep, too strong for sleep,

Watching the morning ray,

Each soul that fled, thought his comrades dead, As he bless'd the dawn of day.

THE KISS.

FIRST when the lips of Lovers meet,
That Kiss of kisses, ô how sweet!
Time, while it steals each featur'd grace,
But treasures more that fweet embrace;
For, ah! no after-kiss so sweet,

As first when lips of lovers lips do meet!

P. L. C.

AN ANACREONTIC.

BY THEOPHILUS SWIFT, ESQ.

HASTE thee Cupid, haste away,
Hie thee hence, nor more delay:
Quit, O quit my aching heart,
Or I'll make thee feel its smart,
And avenging all thy tricks,
Hurl thee headlong over Styx;
First thy plumy pinions bind
In a rosy wreath behind;
Then away thine arrows throw,
Snap the quiver, break the bow;
Last, thyself I'll sacrifice.-
Now, what death shall I devise ?
If I hang thee up, you will
Round my heart be hanging still;
If I slay thee-then indeed,
I beneath the blow shall bleed;
Or should'st thou in flame expire,
Shall not I consume in fire?
Then to ease, to end my cares,
I will drown thee in my tears.

WAR SONG.

BY MISS PEARSON.

COME! ye generous, gallant band,
Bulwarks of your native land,
In determin'd phalanx stand,

Firm as rocks, to meet your foe.

Lo! the fiend of France draws nigh!
-Now your noble hearts beat high:
Hark! he threats that ye shall die,
Die-or groan in slavery.

Europe's scourge! he now aspires
Here to quench bright Freedom's fires,
Cherish'd by our warlike Sires,
Many a splendid century.

Thinks he that we fear his power?
No! he comes to meet his hour,
Here his evil angels lour,

Death, and scoffing Infamy!

All in vain his demon-band
Pant to tread this sacred land,
Britons circle hand in hand,

Sworn to conquer or to die.

Lo! the savage horde arrives.

-Now to save your homes, your wives,
Now to save your childrens' lives,
Men of England crush the foe!

Hark! he raves, in fury dire;
Men of England! rouze your ire!
Hearts of iron, souls of fire,

If

Guard your country's liberty!

you hate the name of slave, Fight, your liberties to save,

Win the field, or find a grave,

Where freemen may nobly die.

EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH.

Том, tell

you

TO A QUACK.

us, has treated you ill past example: He's sick-go prescribe-your revenge will be ample.

R. A. D.