3

She burns, she faints, delicious death!
Caught from her lover's balmy breath,
From the warm, eager kiss.

Bear me to Claren's hallow'd grove,
Where, blushing, you and rapture rove,
Deep hid from lawless view,

Where oft the rosy sighing maid
Sought fondly the embow'ring shade,
To love's blest influence due.

Sweet Sensibility! best friend!
Haste, haste, thy footsteps hither bend,
And all thy soul impart ;
Dear to my humble breast art thou,
Dear as the ruddy drops that flow
From my sad, flutt'ring heart.

Ah me! if e'er I prove unkind,
If e'er forget thy wounds to bind,
Thy wretched to relieve,
May dull oblivion wrap my head,
And dead to joy, to pity dead,
My bosom cease to heave.

SONNET.

FROM THE PORTUGUESE

OF CAMOENS.

[The earliest and happiest years of the life of Camoens were passed at Coimbra. The walls of that town were bathed by the river Mondego, to which this beautiful Sonnet is ad'dressed.-Translator.]

MONDEGO! thou, whose waters cold and clear Gird those green banks, where fancy fain would stay,

Fondly to muse on that departed day

When hope was kind, and Friendship seem'd sincere ;

-Ere I had purchas'd knowledge with a tear;

-Mondego! though I bend my pilgrim way
To other shores, where other fountains stray,
And other rivers roll their proud career,
ill-nor shall time, nor grief, nor stars severe,
Nor widening distance e'er prevail in aught
To make thee less to this sad bosom dear;
And Memory oft, by old Affection taught,
Shall lightly speed upon the plumes of thought,
To bathe amongst thy waters cold and clear!

CANZONET.

FROM THE SAME.

[Our poet has managed this trite and common sentiment in his happiest manner. Nothing is more frequent in Provencal po etry than gay and romantick descriptions of spring," wherein eche thynge reneweth, saue onelie the Louer."—Trans.] ·

FLOWERS are fresh, and bushes green,
Cheerily the linnets sing;
Winds are soft, and skies serene;

Time, however, soon shall throw
Winter's snow

O'er the buxom breast of Spring.

Hope, that buds in Lover's heart,
Lives not through the scorn of years;
Time makes love itself depart,

Time and scorn congeal the mind;
Looks unkind

Freeze affection's warmest tears!

Time shall make the bushes green,
Time dissolve the winter-snow,
Winds be soft, and skies serene,
Linnets sing their wonted strain,
But again

Blighted love shall never blow !

ADVICE TO A FRIEND.

GAZE not, my friend, on Celia's eye,
Where thousand loves in ambush wait;
Now, while thou can'st, the danger fly,
Nor dare, like me, to tempt thy fate.
Those charms I view'd in luckless hour,
Awe-struck, as Persians at the sun;
"My bosom own'd' their instant power,
I did but look, and was undone.
So through the air with winged force
And deadly aim the bullet flies ;
Although unseen its trackless course,
The warriour feels it, and he dies.

SONNET WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.
YE disembodied spirits, who have past
Of this dim earth the feverish turmoil;
If, not in inner-heaven enthron'd-awhile
Ye wander, viewless, through the starry vast,
And pitying, see by changeful passion's blast
Rude-tempested, or wrung by force or guile,
The feeble dwellers on this thorny soil,
Till friendly death the conflict end at last;
Tell, if ye may, what cares, what pleasures wait
The ethereal essence from encumbering dust
Releas'd, to seek on high its destin'd state;
Vain wish! ye hear not, or the ever just
Forbids the wondrous story to relate ;
Peace then, my soul! adore, and humbly
trust!

EPITAPH ON A YOUNG LADY.

BY THE UNFORTUNATE RICHARD SAVAGE.

CLOS'D are those eyes that beam'd seraphick fire; Cold is that breast which gave the world desire : M...VOL. 1.

Mute is the voice where winning softness warm'd, Where musick melted, and where wisdom charm'd;

And lively wit, which, decently confin'd,
No prude e'er thought impure, no friend unkind.
Could modest knowledge, fair untrifling youth;
Persuasive reason and endearing truth;

Could honour, shown in friendships most refin'd, And sense that shields th' attempted virtuous mind;

The social temper never known to strife,
The heightening graces that embellish life;
Could these have e'er the darts of death defied,
Never, ah! never, had Melinda died :

Nor can she die-e'en now survives her name,
Immortaliz'd by friendship, love, and fame.

THE REPLY CHURLISH.

"SAY, pensive stranger, wherefore discontent Spreads her black pinions o'er thy clouded soul? Why on the ground are all thy glances bent ? Why does stern grief thy mournful breast control?

Say, dost thou groan beneath oppression's hand? Hast thou of poverty's sad potion drank ? Or hast thou fled, for crimes, thy native land?" "O no! but, d-n it, sir, I've drawn a blank !"

THE WISH.

I WISH not for riches, I wish not for fame; The first is mere pelf, and the second a name : In ambition's fierce stream I wish not to be carried

What wish you for then ?-Why, I wish to be married.

THE DRAMA,

See the players well bestowed-let them be well used; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles, of the time." Shakespeare.

BOSTON THEATRE.

TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY,
A Comedy, by Mrs. Inchbald.

ON Monday, Dec. 2, this piece first appeared. Though "an excellent play, well digested in the scenes," it "pleased not the million," and was laid aside after the fourth representation.

:

The title precisely expresses the tendency of the piece the struggle of a man, with himself, concerning marriage. There is an elegant simplicity in the general plan and conduct of it, which, could it have been entirely preserved, would have given it a very high value; but some of the frivolous circumstancs attending Willowwear, Lady Susan, and other parts, are to the spectator, and must be to the reader, so many insipidities that divert the mind from the story, without the power of affording any adequate amusement; but, as they are not often intruded, Mrs. Inchbald no doubt had a latent consciousness of their true nature. There are many vapid follies which have not sufficient force to excite attention when noticed either in life or exhibited on the stage, and on