By dungeon'd murders-deep and silent graves;
By FREEDOM's martyrs-by HELVETIA'S slaves;
O'cloth'd in blasphemy and blood ! advance
Th' infernal ensigns of unrighteous France!
Tho' Hell strive with thee; tho' the dogs of Hell
Track thy dark steps, and at thy bidding yell
Havock and death, the MIGHTY ONE of HEAV'N
Shall turn thee back in rout disastrous driv'n :
Heav'n's awful Arm in clouds of Pow'r display'd
Shall scatter thy proud hosts like heartless deer dismay'd:
And he that bruis'd the nations with his rod,
Shall feel the fury of the wrath of God!

VACCINE INOCULATION.

[From Mr. BLOOMFIELD'S GOOD TIDINGS.]

WEET beam'd the star of peace upon those days
When Virtue watch'd my childhood's quiet ways,
Whence a warm spark of Nature's holy flame
Gave the farm-yard an honourable name,
But left one theme unsung: then, who had seen
In herds that feast upon the vernal green,
Or dreamt that in the blood of kine there ran
Blessings beyond the sustenance of man?
We tread the meadow, and we scent the thorn,
We hail the day-spring of a summer's morn:
Nor mead at dawning day, nor thymy heath,
Transcends the fragrance of the heifer's breath;
Here, that dear fragrance, as it floats along
O'er ev'ry flow'r that lives in rustic song;
Here, all the sweets of meadows and of kine
Embalm, O Health! an offering at thy shrine.

Dear must that moment be when first the mind,
Ranging the paths of science unconfin'd,
Strikes a new light; when, obvious to the sense,
Springs the fresh spark of bright intelligence.
So felt the towering soul of MONTAGU,
Her sex's glory, and her country's too;
Who gave the spotted plague one deadly blow,
And bade its mitigated poison flow

With half its terrors; yet, with loathing still,
We hous'd a visitant with pow'r to kill.

Then when the healthful blood, though often tried,
Foil'd the keen lancet by the Severn side,

Resisting, uncontaminated still,

The purple pest and unremitting skill;

When

When the plain truth tradition seem'd to know,
And simply pointed to the harmless Cow,'
Doubt and distrust to reason might appeal;
But, when hope triumph'd, what did JENNER feel!
Where even hope itself could scarcely rise
To scan the vast, inestimable prize?
Perhaps supreme, alone, triumphant stood
The great, the conscious power of doing good,
The power to will, and wishes to embrace
Th' emancipation of the human race;
A joy that must all mortal praise outlive,
A wealth that grateful nations cannot give.
Forth sped the truth immediate from his hand,
And confirmations sprung in ev'ry land;
In ev'ry land, on Beauty's lily arm,
An infant softness, like a magic charm,
Appear'd the gift that conquers as it goes;
The dairy's boast, the simple saving Rose!
Momentous triumph-Fiend! thy reign is o'er
Thou, whose blind rage hath ravag'd ev'ry shore,
Whose name denotes destruction, whose foul breath
For ever hov'ring round the dart of death,
Fells, mercilessly fells, the brave and base
Through all the kindreds of the human race.
Who has not heard, in warm, poetic tales,
Of eastern fragrance and Arabian gales?
Bowers of delight, of languor, and repose,
Where beauty triumph'd as the song arose?
Fancy may revel, fiction boldly dare,

But truth shall not forget that thou wert there,
Scourge of the world! who, borne on ev'ry wind,
From bow'rs of roses sprang to curse mankind,
The Indian palm thy devastation knows:
Thou sweep'st the regions of eternal snows† :
Climbing the mighty zenith of his years,
The British oak hath dropp'd his seeming tears,
Hath shook his head to many a passing bell,
And wept whole centuries as thy victims fell:
Armies have bled, and shouts of vict'ry rung,
Fame crown'd their deaths, thy deaths are all unsung:
'Twas thine, while victories claim th' immortal lay,
Through private life to cut thy desperate way;

The first medical account of the Small-pox is given by the Arabian physicans, and is traced no further back than the siege of Alexandria, about the year of Christ 640. WOODVILLE.

+ First introduced into Greenland in 1733, and almost depopulated the country.

WOODVILLE.

And

And when at length the wondrous magnet gave
Th' ambitious wings to cross the western wave,
Thee, in their train of horrid ills, they drew
Beneath the blessed sunshine of Peru *.
But why unskill'd th' historic page explore?
Why thus pursue thee to a foreign shore?
A homely narrative of days gone by,
Familiar griefs, and kindred's tender sigh
Shall still survive; for, oh! on ev'ry mind
Are left some traces of thy wrath behind.
There dwelt, beside a brook that creeps along
Midst infant hills and meads unknown to song,
And alder-grbves, and many a flow'ry lea
Still winding onward to the northern sea,
One to whom poverty and faith were giv'n,
Calm village silence, and the hope of heav'n:

Alone she dwelt: and while each morn brought peace;
And health was smiling on her year's increase,
And haply still a flatt'ring prospect drew,
'Twas well, but there are days of trouble too.
Sudden and fearful, rushing through her frame,
Unusual pains and feverish symptoms came;
Then, when debilitated, faint, and poor,
How sweet to hear a footstep at her door!
To see a neighbour watch life's silent sand,'
To hear the sigh, and feel the helping hand!
But woe o'erspread the interdicted ground,
And consternation sciz'd the hamlets round:
Uprose the pest-its fated victim died;
The foul contagion spread on ev'ry side;
She, who had help'd the sick with kind regard,
Bore home a dreadful tribute of reward,
Home, where six children yielding to its pow'r
Gave hope and patience a most trying hour;
One at her breast still drew the living stream,
(No sense of danger mars an infant's dream,)
Yet ev'ry tongue express'd, and ev'ry eye,
"Whoe'er survives the shock, that child will die!"
But vain the fiat,-Heav'n restor❜d them all,
And destin'd one of riper years to fall.

Midnight beheld the close of all his pain,

His grave was clos'd when midnight came again;

In 1520, says Mr. Woodville, when the Small-pox visited New Spain, it proved fatal to one half of the people in the provinces to which the infection extended; being carried thither by a Negro slave, who attended Narvacz in his expedition against Cortes. He adds, About fifty years after the discovery of Peru, the Small-pox was carried over from Europe to America by way of Carthagena, when it overran the Continent of the New World, and destroyed upwards of 100,000 Indians in the single pro vince of Quito. Hist. of Inoculation.

No

No bell was heard to toll, no funeral pray'r,
No kindred bow'd, no wife, no children there ;
Its horrid nature could inspire a dread

That cut the bonds of custom like a thread.
The humble church-tower higher seem'd to show,
Illumin'd by their trembling light below;

The solemn night-breeze struck each shiv'ring cheek;
Religious reverence forbade to speak:

The starting Sexton his short sorrow chid
When the earth murmur'd on the coffin lid,
And falling bones and sighs of holy dread
Sounded a requiem to the silent dead!

"Why tell us tales of woe, thou who didst give
"Thy soul to rural themes, and bade them live?
"What means this zeal of thine, this kindling fire?
"The rescu'd infant and the dying sire?"
Kind heart, who o'er the pictur'd Seasons glow'd,
Whose smiles have crown'd the verse, or tears have flow'd
Was then the lowly minstrel dear to thee?

Himself appeals-What, if that child were нE!
What, if those midnight sighs a farewel gave,

While hands, all trembling, clos'd his father's grave!
Though love enjoin'd not infant eyes to weep,
In manhood's zenith shall his feelings sleep?

F

The BRIDAL CHAPLET.

[From Mr. SPENCER'S YEAR of SORROW.]

RESH flowers which on the fountain brink

The breath of day-spring rears,

Whose dainty blossoms only drink
The rainbow's diamond tears;

Such flowers alone my hand shall wreathe

For Harriet's genial bow'r,

Such flowers alone their sweets shall breathe

On Harriet's* bridal hour.

Pure as Elysian mornings break,

Fond hopes her fair cheek flush,

Pure as the sinless thoughts which wake

The cherub's infant blush !

The lady Harriet Hamilton, eldest daughter to John James marquis of Abercorn, was shortly to have been married to Henry de la Poer, marquis of Waterford, earl of

Tyrone.

1804.

S

Oh!

Oh! for a voice, if such there be,
Which sighs have never broke,
Oh! for a harp, whose melody
Of sorrow never spoke!

For thee, Tyrone, their strains should flow,
Since ev'ry bliss divine

Which saints believe, or seraphs know,

With Harriet's heart is thine.

Yes, thine are joys beyond the scope
Of fiction's brightest theme,
Brighter than all which youth can hope,
Or Love, or Fancy dream.

Smile on thy green hills, Erin, smile,

Thy woes, thy wars shall cease,

An angel to thy troubled isle
Bears Concord, Joy, and Peace!

DOMESTIC