The voice that responds, or the sound that replies,
Tho' mute in the valley when bid will arise,

Thro' fields of clear æther and mount to the skies→→→→
The sprites of the grotto and crystalline stream-
The transparent fossil with rubific beam-

The grave-tree sepulchral, whose gloomy limbs spread
Their umbrage symbolic, and weep o'er the dead-
The emblem whose branches in chaplet forlorn,
Old poets have sung, hopeless lovers have worn-
The ray-blended token with prismatic flame-
The wreath of renown and the garland of fame-
The river oblivious with lethargic flow,

、

Which, spirits once tasting, forget all their woe-
The thunder-struck wretch whom the fates doom'd to reel
In the regions of hell, condemn'd there to feel
Eternal rotation, transfix'd to a wheel-
The rose finger'd goddess, great herald of light,
Whose beams purge the shadows of all-mantling night-
The goddess whose birth no proud mother can claim,
From Ida's great monarch triumphant she came,
Encircled with honors and matchless in fame-
The sea-nymph whose cadence the victim allures,
Like beauty beguiles him-like harpy devours.

ADDRESS TO THE SUBJECT.

'Tis thine the matchless lines to trace,
The moving form and speaking face,
Love's tender smile and melting grace,
Or beauty's vermeil glow;
Thy pencil's touch awakes the scene
Of frozen seas, or spring's fresh green,
Where rocks and mountains rise between,
Or waters rush below.

Yet not alone are beauty's glow,
Her melting eye, or neck of snow,
Her languid, grace or tresses' flow,

The wreath thy temples twines.—

But justly must to thee belong,
The outline firm, and feature strong,
That e'er in legend or in song,
The ancient poets told;
By thee immerg'd each figure dim,
Of spectre tall, or warrior grim,
With matted beard or giant limb,
Expressive stand, and bold.

Thy trace can time's rude wreck restore,
Return the image as before,

Redeem the form which nature wore,
The smile which beauty gave ;
Tho' death should snatch the friend away,
The tomb dissolve the transient clay,
Thou canst the rapid ruin stay,

And mock the tyrant grave!

SELECTED POETRY.

SONG.

The Yellow Leaf.

O take the gaudy wreath away,
That boasts the richest hue of May,
It suits not with my sober day,

I claim the leaf that's yellow:
For I have seen its blossom blow,
Cherish'd the fresh bud on the bough
More welcome to my spirits now
Is that dear leaf that's yellow.

J. H.

But

EPIGRAM

On an old maid caressing a spaniel.

RUTHA, it don't surprise me in the least,
To see thee kiss so dainty, clean a beast;
But that so dainty, clean a beast licks thee-
Ay, that surprises me.

MONTHLY MISCELLANY,

OF LITERARY INTELLIGENCE, REMARKABLE INCIDENTS,
OBITUARY NOTICES, &c. &c.

LITERARY. MR. FENNELL, Philadelphia, has at length put to press his long-expected work, An Apology for the life of James Fennell. Written by himself. "The work," says the author, "will comprise a history of about forty years, wasted in the varieties of feeling and occupation.

"Look into those they call UNFORTUNATE,

And closer view'd, you'll find they are UNWISE.”

"As the twig is bent the tree's inclin❜d.”

It will contain such remarks on the Pulpit, the Bar, the Stage, the Universities, Colleges, Seminaries, and Academies in Europe and in the United States, as may result from personal observation chiefly-although it may be enlivened occasionally by anecdotes of all ranks, from the King to the Beggar; from the Pope to the Atheist; from the President to the infant Negro. The Author is personally well known in the principal cities of the United States, but he wishes to be more intrinsically so. And, therefore, requests his numerous acquaintances to subscribe to a work which will be delivered to them upon the following conditions:-The work shall be well printed on good paper, and embellished with a Portrait of the Author. It will be comprised in one volume octavo, containing about five hundred pages, and delivered to subscribers at $2 50 cts. in boards-payable on delivery. To non subscribers the price will be raised to $2 75, or $3.

FUNERAL SOLEMNITIES OF CAPT. LAWRENCE AND LIEUT. LUDLOW. On Monday the 23d inst. the remains of the lamented Capt. James Lawrence and Lieut. Augustus C. Ludlow were entombed at Salem with the greatest respect. The scene was solemn and impressive. Business was suspended, and the whole town was crowded either to perform or to witness the funeral honors to the fallen heroes. About noon the bodies were removed from the Cartel Henry, in which they had been brought from Halifax, accompanied by eight boats, manned by sailors in uniform, rowing minute strokes; the Cartel brig and the U. S. brig of war Rattlesnake, Capt. CREIGHTON, firing minute guns during their passage. The bodies were landed, and the coffins placed on hearses, which were lent by the Board of Health of Boston: the U. S. flags covering the hearses. At one o'clock, the procession, consisting of the officers of the U. S. Navy and Army, the Clergy of all denominations, the different corporate bodies, the several Marine Societies, together with citizens and strangers from Boston and the vicinity, moved under the escort of the company of light infantry commanded by Capt. J. C. KING. Minute guns were fired during the whole procession by the Salem artillery, under Capt. PEABODY, which was stationed on Washington-square. The movement was deeply impres sive. The sides of the streets were crowded, and the windows were filled with spectators, and many were on the tops of houses. The tolling of the deep toned bells the solemn melody of the music-the slow and melancholy-inspiring pace of the procession-the appearance of the sable coffins with their accompaniments-and the awe-striking report of the minute guns, rendered the whole a scene of solemn woe. Two hours elapsed while the procession was moving to the church; and the multitude was so great, that a small part only could be accomodated to hear the Eulogy by the Hon. Judge STORY. After the orator had concluded, the bodies were entombed with the customary military and masonic ceremonies. The church was shrouded in the sable habiliments of woe, and the sacred services of religion, and the music were appropriate. [Salem Gazette.]

DIED,

In Philadelphia, 23d Aug. ALEXANDER WILSON, Esq. author of the "American Ornithology."

THE

POLYANTHOS.

FOR SEPTEMBER, 1813,

if

We shall never envy the honors, which wit and learning obtain in any other cause, we can be numbered among the writers who have given ardor to virtue and confidence to truth. Dr. Johnson.

* Dramatic genius, with genius of every other kind, is assuredly native of our soil, and there wants but the wholesome and kindly breath of favor to invigorate its delicate frame, and bid it rapidly arise from its cradle to blooming maturity.”

MR. EDITOR,

IT has become so fashionable to decry not only American literature, but every other production of native genius, of whatever species, that it is not easy to find a man sufficiently protected by the consciousness of his own powers, to come forward and expose himself to the indifference of his countrymen and the prejudice of imported reviewers. We have been so long in the habit of receiving our fashions, our customs, and our modes of thinking, from the old world, that the man, who does not humbly demean himself according to the maxims emanating from thence, is in very great danger of being called a fool.

This habit of paying implicit deference to the opinions of foreigners, or of those who have taken a trip to Europe, has become absolutely ridiculous. Very few can be found possessing such rashness as to applaud an American poet, till the decision of the Edinburgh Review, (or that of Mr.

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