Is charity and love among high elves ;
The knights and barons live for pleasure and themselves.

The gathered storm is ripe; the big drops fall;
The sunburnt meadows smoke, and cloud the rain;
The coming ghaзtness do the beasts appal,
And the full flocks are driving o'er the plain ;
Dash'd from the clouds the waters fly again;
The welkin opes, the yellow lightning flies ;
And the hot fiery steam in the wide lowings* dies.

List; now the thunder's rattling, noisy sound,
Moves slowly on, and then increasing clangs,
Shakes the high spire; and lost, dispended, drown'd,
Still on the affrighted ear of terror hangs ;

The winds are up; the lofty elment swanges‡ ;
Again the lightning and the thunder pours,

And the full clouds are burst at once in stony showers.

Spurring the palfry o'er the watry plain,
The Abbot of St. Godwin's convent came ;
His shapournette§ was drenched with the rain,
His painted girdle met with mickle shame ;
He backward told bis bead roll at the same;
The storm encrcasen, and he drew aside,

With the poor alms craver, ne'er to the holm to bide.

His cloak was all of Lincoln cloth so fine,

With a gold button fastened near his chin :

His loose white robe was edged with golden twine,
And his shoe's pike a lover's might have been;
Full well it showed he thoughten cost no sin;
The trappings of the palfry pleased his sight,
For the horse milener his head with roses dight.

"An alms, sir Priest!" the louting pilgrim said, "O let me wait within your convent door, Till the sun shineth high above our head, And the loud tempest of the air is o'er ; Helpless and old am I, alas! and poor, No house, nor friend, nor money in my pouch! All that I call my own is this my silver crouche."

"Varlet," replied the abbot, " cease your din, This is no season alms and prayers to give ; My porter never lets a beggar in ;

Flames.

Elm. Swings. § Ecclesiastical hat. || i. e. Cursed. ¶ Cross.

None touch my ring who not in honor live."

And now the sun with the black clouds did strive,
And shooting on the ground his glaring ray,
The abbot spurred his steed and eftsoones road away.

Once more the sky was black, the thunders roll'd;
Fast running o'er the plain a priest was seen
Not dight full proud, nor buttoned up in gold;
His cloak and surplice grey, and eke were clean;
A Limitourt he was of order seene;

And from the pathway side thus turned he,
Where the poor almer lay, beneath the holmen trees

"An alms, sir Priest !" the louting pilgrim said, "For sweet saint Mary and your order sake." The Limitour then loosen'd his pouch thread, And did thereout a groat of silver take;

The needy pilgrim did for pleasure shake.

"There, take this silver, it may ease thy care;

We are God's stewards all, nought of our own we bear.

But ah unhappy pilgrim learn of me,

Scarce any give a rentroll to their Lord,

Here take my coat, for thou art bare I see ;

'Tis thine; the saints will give me my reward."

He left the pilgrim, and his aberde.
way
Virgin and holy saint who, sit in gloure,‡

Or give the mighty will, or give the good man power.

A friar with particular privileges.

+ Glory..

ODE,

For the Dinner, given, at. Boston, March 2, 1813, to CoMMODORE BAINBRIDGE, and the Officers of the United StatesFrigate, Constitution, after their victory, over his Britannic Majesty's Frigate, Java, Capt. Lambert. Written for the occasion, at the request of the Committee of Arrangements,

•

BY. L. M. SARGENT, ESQ.

BRAVE hearts of ocean chivalry,
Who late, in arms, have stood,
Victorious, o'er the bravest foe,
Whose thunder wakes the flood!

Ye twice, who sought Fame's proudest height,

And twice attain'd the goal!
Again, o'er the main,

Shall your conq'ring thunders roll,
And your banners float victoriously,
And your conq'ring thunders roll.
Mark, how your ship triumphantly
Her native billows lave!

Where first she gave her virgin form,

In rapture, to the wave.

Twice bold Britannia's hearts of oak
Have own'd her stern control.
And again, o'er the main,
Shall her conq'ring thunders roll,
And her banners float victoriously,
And her conq'ring thunders roll.

When first again, for battle,
Ye bade your thunders swell,
A spirit, clad in armour, stood,
Where once an hero fell.
It sternly frown'd upon the foe,
And shew'd the scar it bore ;
Till again, o'er the main,
Your thunders ceas'd to roar,
And your banners way'd victoriously,
While your thunders ceas'd to roar.

BUSH! 'twas thy gallant spirit,
That left its realms, on high,
To hear Columbia's battle rage,
To see her streamers fly.

That spirit, when the fight was done,

Aloft the tidings bore ;

How again, o'er the main,

Your conq'ring guns did roar,
And your banners wav'd victoriously,
And your conq'ring guns did roar.

FAME! wreath again thy laurels,
Like HULL'S, forever fair;
Such garlands, on his manly brows,
Shall noble BAINBRIDGE wear:

The same their banner and their deck,

The same their daring soul,
And the same be their fame,
While their conq'ring thunders roll,
And their banners float victoriously,
And their conq'ring thunders roll.

High, on thy rolls of glory,
With honors, doubly crown'd,
By those, whose sires are yet unborn,
Shall AYLWIN's name be found.

The spirits of the brave, who live,
On thine eternal scroll;

Again, o'er the main,

When they hear their thunders rolí,
Shall trim those banners to the breeze,

While the conq'ring thunders roll.

"Ye Mariners of England,"

The brave applaud the brave;
Our bays, with cypress, would we twine,
To deck your LAMBERT'S grave.
But, since 'tis ours to meet ye, foes,
Our gallant friends of yore,
Again, o'er the main,

Shall our conq'ring thunders roar,
And our banners float victoriously,
And our conq'ring thunders roar.

Fame, ready twine such garlands,
As crown the brave, to-day;
For here are ocean warriors,

As good and brave as they.

When fortune leads them, where the foe

Now sweeps the surges o'er;

42

VOL. I.

Again, o'er the main,

Shall our conq'ring thunders roar,
And our banners float victoriously,
And our conq'ring thunders roar.

We are aware that the following Ode would not pass the ordeal of inflexible criticism; but we consider it as one of the best of those patriotic effusions of the muses, to which the events of the times are daily giving birth.

ODE,

Written at the request of the Charlestown branch of the Washington Benevolent Society of Massachusetts, Feb. 22, 1813.

BY HENRY SMALL.

WHILE the years roll swift away,

Pleas'd we greet this joyous morn;
Welcome we th' auspicious day,

When our WASHINGTON was born:
O'er his cradle Valor smil'd,
Freedom rear❜d her fav'rite child;
Fame proclaim'd him born to be
Champion of our liberty.

Through his glorious life's career,

Virtue prompted ev'ry plan;
Crown'd his ardent wish and care

With the firm-fix'd Rights of Man:
Ev'ry greatness he combin❜d !—
Warrior, Statesman, Christian, join'd,
High to place his honor'd name
On th' immortal rolls of fame.
Peace, beneath his happy reign,

Blest our nation's utmost bound;
Commerce whiten'd all the main ;
Plenty pour'd her riches round :
Lisping childhood, hoary age,
Hail'd with heart-felt joy the Sage;
Plaudits from the good and wise.
Rose, like incense, to the skies.