Thyme-embroidered grove Light-heeled graces

I am, Sir, your humble fervant,

A DELLA-CRUSCAN.

P.S. I have to request that your compofitor will be very correct in the printing of these articles. It is very difficult to mend the errors of the Della Crufca school. I intend this catalogue as an exercife for children on "words of two or three fyllables." I think I hear the miftrefs faying, "Come, Anna Matilda, caft a glimmering glimpfe on this paper, and let me fee if you can. fpell murky hours. Laura Maria, what filmy vapours keep you fo long on the pebbly way? Why don't you come to your leafy bed?" &c. &c.

August 28.

SIGHTS.

[From Little's Poems]

GOOD reader, if you e'er have seen,

When Phoebus haftens to his pillow,
The mermaids with their treffes green
Dancing upon the western billow;
If you have feen, at twilight dim,
When the lone fpirits' vefper hymn

Floats wild along the winding thore;
If you have seen, through mift of eve,
The fairy train their ringlets weave,
Glancing along the spangled green;

If you have feen all this, and more,-
God blefs me! what a deal you've seen!

EPIGRAM

BY THOMAS SANDERSON, ESQ.

DICK on his wife could not bestow

One tear of forrow when she died;

Her life had made fo many flow,
That all the briny fount was dried!

ON A MODERN THRÁSO.

HOW kind has Nature unto Blufter been,

Who gave him dreadful looks and dauntless mien;
Gave tongue to swagger, eyes to strike dismay,
And, kinder ftill, gave legs-to run away!

Woburn.

P.

WE

HOMO VERMIS.

"6 MAN IS BUT A WORM."

E all are creeping worms of th' earth +
Some are Silk-worms, great by birth;
Glow-worms fome, that fhine by night;
Slow-worms others, apt to bite;

Some are Muck-worms, flaves to wealth;
Maw-worms fome, that wrong the health;
Some to the public no good-willers,
Canker-worms and Caterpillars:
Round about the earth we 're crawling;
For a forry life we're fprawling:
Putrid ftuff we fuck; it fills us;

Death then fets his foot, and kills us.

L. C.

THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ. AUTHOR OF

PLEASURES OF HOPE."

THEY lighted a taper at the dead of night,

And chanted their holieft hymn ;

But her brow and her bofom were damp with affright-
Her eye was all fleepless and dim!

And the lady of Elderflie wept for her lord,

When a death watch beat in her lonely room, When her curtain had fhook of its own accord, And the raven had flapp'd at her window-board— To tell of her warrior's doom!

« Now

"Now fing ye the death-fong, and loudly pray
For the foul of my knight so dear;
And call me a widow this wretched day,
Since the warning of God is here!

For a night-mare rides on my ftrangled fleep:-
The lord of my bofom is doom'd to die;
His valorous heart they have wounded deep;
And the blood-red tears fhall his country weep
For Wallace of Elderflie!"

Yet knew not his country that ominous hour,
Ere the loud matin bell was rung,
That a trumpet of death on an English tower
Had the dirge of her champion fung!
When his dungeon-light look'd dim and red

On the high-born blood of a martyr flain,
No anthem was fung at his holy death-bed;
No weeping there was when his bofom bled-
And his heart was rent in twain !

Oh, it was not thus when his oaken spear
Was true to that knight forlorn,

And hofts of a thousand were scatter'd, like deer
At the blaft of the hunter's horn;

When he ftrode on the wreck of each well-fought field
With the yellow-hair'd chiefs of his native land!
For his lance was not fhiver'd on helmet or fhield-
And the fword that feem'd fit for archangel to wield
Was light in his terrible hand!

Yet bleeding and bound, though the Wallace wight
For his long-lov'd country die,

The bugle ne'er fung to a braver knight
Than William of Elderflie!

But the day of his glory fhall never depart;

His head unentomb'd fhall with glory be palm'd; From its blood-ftreaming altar his fpirit fhall start; Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, A nobler was never embalm'd!

A BRITON'S ADDRESS TO THE ARMY.

TI

THE DAY OF BATTLE.

[From the True Briton.]

BRITONS, who in rapt'rous strains
Of Agincourt's and 'Creffy's plains
Oft have fung; to foreign chains
You who ne'er have bent the knee;
Now's the day, and now 's the hour-
See the front of battle lour-
See approach falfe Gallia's pow'r-
Rapine, chains, and flavery.

Who will be a traitor-knave?
Who would fill a coward's grave?
Who fo bafe as be a flave?

Traitor, coward, turn and flee:
Whom hall Gallic threats appal?
Fly to glory's facred call-
Freemen ftand, or freemen fall;
Gallant Britons-on with me.
Children, wives, and parents dear,
Yours our generous toils to cheer;
We wave the fword, we point the fpear
For you, for law, and liberty:
Though Gallia vaunt, though Auftria fail,
Though ten-fold perils aye'affail,
Still fall British arms prevail-

Alone fhall Britain conq'ror be.

By Hibernia's cries and moans

By England's wrongs-by Europe's groans.
Parent earth!-O take our bones,

Drink our blood-or keep us free:

Lay the rash invader low;

Ruffians fall in ev'ry foę,

Freedom ftrikes in ev'ry blow:

Freedom! who'll not bleed for thee?

On injur'd Egypt's moiften'd fand,
See how fhrinks the hoftile band
Crush'd by Britain's vengeful hand!

What