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That was the day I can tell you that earn'd you the love of your sweetheart;
Marry, my Brother, and soon! you were made for a husband.

Loves to go after the Methodists; you will be one of the godly!

Louisa

RYALTO.

SONG.

I know you false, I know you vain,
Yet still I cannot break my chain;
Tho' with those lips so sweetly smiling,
Those eyes so bright, and so beguiling,
On every youth by turns you smile,
And every youth by turns beguile,
Yet still enchant, and still deceive me,
Do all things fatal fair, but LEAVE ME!

Still let me in those speaking eyes
Trace all your feelings as they rise,
Still from those lips like rosebuds swelling
That seem of soft delight the dwelling,
Catch tones of sweetness which the soul
In fetters ever new controul;

Nor let my starts of anguish grieve thee,

Tho' death to stay, 'twere DEATH TO LEAVE THEL.

AEPIO.

ODE

T. GEORGIANA, DUTCHESS of DEVONSHIRE,

On the 24th Stanza in her "Passage over Mount Gothard."

(And hail the Chapel! hail the Platform wild!
Where TELL directed the avenging Dart,

With well-strung arm, that first preserv'd his Child,
Then wing'd the arrow to the Tyrant's heart!)

Splendor's fondly-foster'd Child!

And did you hail the Platform wild,

Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of TELL?

O Lady, nurs'd in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learnt you that heroic measure?

Light as a dream your days their circlets ran,
From all, that teaches Brotherhood to man,
Far, far remov'd! from Want, from Hope, from Fear!
Enchanting music lull'd your infant ear,
Obeisant praises sooth'd your infant heart:
Emblazonments and old ancestral crests,

With many a bright obtrusive form of Art, Detain'd your eye from Nature: stately vests, Rich viands and the pleasurable wine,

Were your's unearn'd by toil; nor could you see
The unenjoying toiler's misery.

And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child,
You hail'd the Chapel and the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of TELL!

O Lady, nurs'd in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learnt you that heroic measure?

There crowd your finely-fibred frame
All living faculties of bliss:

And GENIUS to your cradle came

His forehead wreath'd with lambent flame,
And bending low with godlike kiss

Breath'd in a more celestial life!

But

many of your many fair compeers Have frames as sensible of joys and fears:

And some might wage an equal strife,
Some few to nobler being wrought,
Co-rivals in the nobler gift of thought.

Yet these delight to celebrate
Laurell'd War and plumy State ;.
Or in verse and music dress

Tales of rustic happiness-
Pernicious tales! insidious strains!
That steel the rich man's breast,
And mock the lot unblest,

The sordid vices and the abject pains,
Which evermore must be

The doom of Ignorance and Poverty! But you, free Nature's uncorrupted Child, Hail'd the low Chapel and the Platform wild, Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of TELL!

O Lady, nurs'd in pomp and pleasure!
Where learnt you that heroic measure?

You were a MOTHER; that most holy name, Which Heaven and Nature bless,

I may not vilely prostitute to those

Whose infants owe them less.

Than the poor Reptile owes
Its gaudy Parent Fly!