By fome old aunt with ill-requited toil,

I oft the fpangles pick'd, and look'd afkance the while.

There too, above the round-archt portal, hung

The branching antlers of a foreft-deer,

For whom with hounds and horn the deep dales rung.
But, as enamour'd of the wild-wood cheer,
Full many a moon o'er vallies, far and near,
He ran, and feem'd to scorn the murderous crew;
Till, where the tops of yon oaks fcarce appear,
The gunner bade his blood the copfe imbrue-
Yet e'en that relic pale is vanish'd from the view!
Drear is the fun-clad wall, where erst at noon

I bask'd beneath the yet unblushing fruit;
Oft as the gardener's skill was wont to prune
From the rich nectarine each luxuriant shoot,
Or net to every train'd morella fuit.

And lo! where light its twinkling florets play'd,
The dark-green jasmine fhrivell'd to its root!
And the grafs-walk, where fighs the poplar-fhade,
Sinks deep at every step with leaves and mofs o'erlaid.
And fee, beyond the garden's northern bound,
The ruin'd cottage, to the blasts of heav'n
Unroof'd, and crumbled to a naked mound!
There, ere its walls by cruel time were riv❜n,
The rays
of sweet domestic peace were giv'n
To bless the cot! The wicket, where it hung,
Yet to and fro I view, in fancy, driv'n;
And fwinging careless there, as erft I swung,
Again the good old hind attack with flippant tongue.

Alas! the chefnut on yon flaty steep

That the wild eddies of the weftwind brav'd, Displays no more its vefture fhadowy-deep,

Nor, late difmantled as the tempest rav'd,

-Waves the fair bloffoms which it whilom wav'd
And lo! its wither'd roots no longer gleam
Thro' the clear riv'let that its fibres lav'd-
There, where the pigeon-cote that met the beam
Of morn, now proftrate lies, amid the brawling stream.

Lorn is the landscape, fince the blissful prime,
When on the daify-darting fod I play'd,
Caught the quick radiance quiv'ring thro' the lime,
Breath'd the fresh odors of its evening fhade,
And on its bark the rude impreffion made
E'en now, half-crufted o'er, the name appears!
And, where my fchool-companions cross'd the glade,

Lo other sweet memorials wakening tears,

Wear, like the joys they fpeak, the pale cold damp of years! Vol. i. r. 76.

Mr. Polwhele is not always happy in his epithets: they are frequently forced, and ill-compounded, like daify-darting in the ftanza laft quoted.

The fecond volume commences with an ode to the spirit of freshness, a fingular perfonification, the daughter of Aura and the vernal dew. The ode difcovers fpirit and genius.

I fee thee not-But lo! a vapory shape
That oft belies thy form, emerging flow,
From that deep central gloom,

Refts on the moontipt wood;

Now, by a halo circled, fails along,
As gleams with icicles his azure vest,
Now fhivers on the trees,

And feebly finks from sight.

'Tis cold! And lo, upon the whitening folds
Of the dank mift that fills the hollow dell,
Chill damp with drizzly locks

Glides in his lurid car;

Where a lone fane o'er thofe broad rufhes nods

In flumberous torpor; fave when flitting bat

Stirs the rank ivy brown

That clafps its oozing walls!

Yet, yet, defcending from yon eaftern tent,
Whofe amber feems to kifs the wavy plain,
A form, half-viewlefs, fpreads

A flush purpureal round.

I know thee, freshness! Lo, delicious green
Sprinkles thy path. The bursting buds above.
With vivid moisture glow,

To mark thy gradual way.' Vol. ii. P. 3.

In a note Mr. Polwhele has fatisfactorily repelled the charge of having borrowed from the Pleafures of Memory, and has adduced many paffages from that work closely refembling parts of his previously published poems. At the fame time, he expreffes his belief that these resemblances are the natural confequence of a train of thought upon the fame or finilar fubjects, purfued by two writers whofe minds were fomewhat congenial.' Many of the notes are interefting; but we with that they had been printed under the text: we wish alfo that these poeins had not been expanded into two volumes.

Private Memoirs relative to the laft Year of the Reign of Lewis the Sixteenth, late King of France. (Concluded from p. 178.)

WE have never yet feen any reafon to diffent from M. de Moleville's opinion of the decree concerning the priests, and that which related to the camp of 20,000 men. They were certainly iffued in the hopes that the king would refuse his fanction to them, and that this refufal might lead to an infurrection. The Girondifts flattered themfelves with the idea of haftening by fuch means the execution of their plan against the king and the monarchy; and they were not difappointed, although their own appearance on the fcaffold fo foon afterward did not enter into their calculation. Their designs, it appears, were communicated to Louis; and his anfwer was, "that fuch might be the schemes of the Jacobins; but all that he could do was to endeavour to evade their machinations, by remaining faithful to the conftitution." At this time, the leaders of the Gironde party, it is faid, had great influence with the Jacobins ; but they foon after abandoned that fociety, on account of its violence, and were forced into a republic, long before the time when they judged it would be expedient, by Danton, Robefpierre, Collot d'Herbois, &c. when the king's fafety became doubtful. The writer of these memoirs offered him a plan of escape; but his majesty declined the adoption of it; and even the queen was not fo ready to give way to any scheme of the kind as might have been expected. That unfortunate princefs, although overwhelmed with misfortunes, allowed herself to be deluded by the hope, that the king's affairs would, of themfelves, take a favourable turn: the entertained that idea to the laft. To this fecurity, or fatal want of forefight, we must attribute her repugnance to the only meafures that remained to fave the king and herfelf from the impending danger.

When Louis was depofed, M. de Moleville fecreted himself in Paris. The accounts of his narrow escapes are interesting; but are given in a ftyle of too much levity. His dialogue in the boat in which he made his efcape to England, is a fpecimen of the equivoque that would do credit to a modern dramatic writer. We pafs on to the following particulars, hitherto little known, refpecting the laft moments of the perfecuted prince.

When M. de Malefherbes first visited the king at the Temple, as one of his counfel, his majefty, who confidered his condemnation as certain, expreffed the most anxious defire to fee a priest, and mentioned the abbé Edgeworth, grand vicar of the diocese of Paris, and confeffor to the princess Elizabeth, as the one he would prefer; defiring M. de Malefherbes to take every

ftep towards obtaining for that gentleman free access to him, without any danger of being infulted: but requesting, at the fame time, that the abbé might be informed, that his majefty would not prefs this upon him, if he dreaded any personal rifk on that account; in which cafe he was requested to point out fome other proper perfon for that office, the king being willing to rely entirely on the abbé's recommendation.

M. de Malefherbes having executed his majesty's commiffion, found M. Edgeworth cordially difpofed to the duty requir ed of him. It was not till the 20th of January 1793, at four of the afternoon, that he was fent for to the Thuilleries by the executive council, who affembled there. When admitted into the room where the minifters were convened, he was greatly ftruck with the terror and confternation which appeared in their coun

tenances.

"Louis Capet defires to fee you," said the minister of justice (Garat). "Will you go to him to the Temple?" "Unquestionably I will," replied the abbé.

request is an order, in my eyes."

"The king's

"Follow me, then; I will conduct you to him," refumed the fame minifter, who was going to notify to his majesty the decree of the convention, in confequence of the king's requests to them, and to announce that the following morning, at ten o'clock, was fixed for his execution. The minifter of justice took the abbé into the carriage with him; and on the way from the Thuilleries to the Temple he feveral times repeated, with the accent of defpair, "What a dreadful commiffion!"

• M. Edgeworth being fummoned to fulfil one of the most folemn and facred duties of his miniftry, was defirous of obferving the forms which the church prefcribes, and urged the propriety of attending his majesty in priest's vestments.

"That is impoffible," replied the minifter of juftice.

When they arrived at the Temple, they found the tower furrounded by a confiderable number of national guards, by one of whom they were introduced into a hall where twelve or fifteen members of the commune de Paris were fitting, and at that time formed that court called confeil de la commune feant au Temple. Six or feven of them accompanied the minifter to the king's chamber, and the others retained the abbé with them, although the minifter expreffed a defire of prefenting him to the king.

This council was certainly compofed of the most unfeeling and brutal men in the municipality. They behaved to M. Edgeworth, not only without compaffion, but they even thewed a ferocious joy. They rudely fearched all his pockets, opened his fnuff-box to fee whether it did not contain poifon, examined his pencil-cafe, on the pretext that it might conceal a ftiletto. They then made him afcend to the king's apartment by a little narrow ftair, where fentinels were placed at fmall intervals, fome of them drunk, fwearing, and finging, as if it had been an ale-house.

The minifter of juftice was ftill in the king's apartment with thofe members of the council who had accompanied him to his pajefty; the ferene dignity of whofe countenance formed a

ftriking contraft with the haggard and villanous looks of the wretches who furrounded him. As foon as the king perceived the abbé Edgeworth, he made a movement, expreffive of his defire to be left alone with him. The others immediately withdrew. The king fhut the door, and turned towards the abbé, who funk on his knees, kiffed his majesty's hand, and bathed it with his tears. The king, equally affected, raifed M. Edgeworth, faying,

"None but the most unrelenting of men have been allowed to approach me of late. My eyes are accustomed to them: but the fight of a man of humanity, a faithful subject, affects my whole foul, and melts me as you fee."

Being in fome meafure recovered, he led the abbé into his clofet, and having made him fit down, he read his laft will twice over to him, with a firm tone and proper emphasis; his voice failing only at thofe parts where mention is made of the queen, his children, and the princefs Elizabeth.

"What is become of the good cardinal de la Rochefoucault," said the king, after a short pause, . . . . . " and the archbishop of Paris? Have you any news of him? I fear he is difpleafed

with me. He wrote to me while I was at the Thuilleries. I did not answer his letter, I was fo furrounded. He will forgive me. Affure him that I die in his communion; and that in fpite of all the changes they have made, 1 always confidered myself as one of his flock."

• It is difficult to do justice to the devout, fublime, and heroic fentiments expreffed by the king in this interefting conference, particularly when he fpoke of his own fituation and that of his family; but, above all, when he dwelt on the misfortunes of his country.

"This people, by nature good," faid he, "but now mifguided and enflaved by a few unprincipled leaders, would never have fuffered me to be accused of tyranny, if they had known how much their happiness has always been dear to me, and how fin-" cerely I have wifhed to promote it. In proportion as I have been deprived of the means and hope of attaining an object which I had fo much at heart, life has become more and more disgusting to me; and I now make the facrifice without regret. I am certain that the time will come when the French people will lament my lofs. Yes, I am confident that they will do juftice to my memory when they fhall know the truth, when they have the liberty of being just: but alas! till then, they are, and will be, very unhappy!"

This reflection on the misfortunes of his country again drew tears from the eyes of the generous monarch.

Speaking of the duke of Orleans, he said,

"I do not know what I have done to my coufin, to make him behave to me in the manner he has done: but he is to be pitied. He is ftill more unfortunate than I am. I certainly would not change conditions with him."

After this, he rofe, faying,

"I muít nów go and fee iny family for the laft time. This