Calmly he view'd them, conscious that his ends
Were right, and truth and innocence his friends.
Thus was he form'd to govern and to please:
Familiar greatness, dignity with ease,
Compos'd his frame: admir'd in every state;
In private amiable, in public great;
Gentle in power, but daring in disgrace,
His love was liberty, his wish was peace.
Such was the man that smil'd upon my lays:
And what can heighten thought or genius raise,
Like praise from him, whom all mankind must praise?
Whose knowledge, courage, temper, all surprised;
Whom many lov'd, few hated, none despised.]
Here then I rest: and since it is decreed
The pleasing paths of poetry to tread,
Hear me, O Muse; receive one poet more,
Consenting bend, and pour down all thy store;
No longer constant round Parnassus rove,

But change the scene and smile on Coldbrook's grove.
Here too are limpid streams, here oaks their shade
O'er mossy turf more soft than slumbers spread.
Expression, thought, and numbers, bring along;
But, above all, let Truth attend my song.
So shall my verse still please the man I love,
Make Winnington commend, and my own Fox ap-
prove.'

THE

WANDERING SAVOYARD'S SONG.

BY MR. DIMOND, JUN.

WITHIN a silent, shelter'd spot,

Is rear'd my lov'd paternal cot:
Behind, the Alps their shadows throw,

Here crown'd with pine, and there with snow:

In front, delightful vineyards blush,

With thymy dales (where browse the flock)
Just bounded by some granite rock,
Whence water-falls in murmurs gush.
Ah! how I sorrow'd when farewell
I bade unto my native dell !

The wild-bee there gallanting roves,
And sucks the sweet-lipp'd flower he loves;
The pigeon weaves her downy nest,
And murmurs o'er her young at rest;

While little birds of blythest lay,

With shining wings and trilling airs,
O'ersweep the woods in love-link'd pairs,
And warble all the live-long day.

Ah faint of phrase is tongue to tell
The pleasures of my native dell!

And there, when moon-beams frost the green,
With mountain-pipe and mandolin,

The youths and maids on light feet hie,
To hold their rustic revelry :

And as the cates and cup pass round,
With mazy dance and merry song
They charm the early night along,

And waken all the sweets of sound.

Ah! how with joy my heart would swell,
Could I regain my native dell!

TRANSLATIONS OF AN EPITAPH.

FROM THE FRENCH OF M. SELIS.

HERE lies a man who never married.
He to the world, alas! was known
By folly and by vice alone.

Ah! on the tomb to which his Sire was carried,
Well had it been could all have read

This short memorial of the dead,

Here lies a man who never married!

WITHIN this grave a Batchelor lies,

By follies and by vices only known! Ah! when in death his Father clos'd his eyes, Why could there not be written on his stone, Within this grave a Batchelor lies!

R. A. DAVENPORT.

TRANSLATION

FROM THE 13th BOOK OF THE GERUSALEMME
LIBERATA OF TASSO.

Enchantment of the Forest, by Ismeno, the Magician.

NIGH where the Christian camp the hills inclose,
'Mid lonely vales a lofty forest rose;

Trees, old and horrid, thick beset the ground,
And shed a deep, portentous shade around.

Here, when the sun shoots down his brightest beams,
A mournful, faint, discoloured twilight gleams;
Such the dim aspect of the cloudy sky,

When day and night at morn, or evening, vie.

But when the sun is sunk, with darkness dread, Night, clouds and mists the vast extent o'erspread ; Infernal seem the shades-they smite, all drear, The eye with blindness, and the heart with fear. Here never shepherd guides his flock to feed; Nor herdsmen here their hungry oxen lead; No pilgrim enters-but with awe-struck eye, And pointing finger, wheels and passes by.

Here WITCHES meet-on sailing clouds convey'd; Each with her lover nightly seeks the shade; Like a fierce dragon this terrific steers,

And that, in shape, an uncouth goat appears;

Assembly dire!-which baleful joys procure,
And while fallacious forms of bliss allure,
With pomp unclean and filthy rites ordain
Their impious nuptials and their feasts profane.
Thus all believe-what Syrian hand shall dare,
From the dread wood, one fatal branch to tear?
The Franks alone the dark recesses sought,

And hence the timber for their engines brought.
Here now th' ENCHANTER came-that hour he
chose,

Meet for the deed!--of midnight's deep repose,
He girds his robe, and in the magic line
His circle forms, and prints each mystic sign;
One foot unshod, within th' enchanted round
He stands and mutters words of potent sound.
Thrice, with his visage turn'd the East he greets,
Thrice the far regions, where the sun retreats;
Thrice shakes the wand, which from the marble's side,
Drags forth the buried corse, and bids it glide.
Thrice with his naked foot he strikes the ground,
And thus in hideous yell his words resound.

"HEAR!--HEAR!-O YE! whom from the starry
world

"The vengeful lightning of the Thunderer hurl'd! "And YE!-wild wanderers, spirits of the air! "Who rouse the whirlwinds, and the storms prepare: "And YE, who torture guilty souls below, "Fell ministers of everlasting woe!

"Ye CITIZENS of HELL! your aid I claim,

"And thine great Sovereign of the realms of flame! "Take charge of this vast forest-instant seize, "And guard with potent charm the number'd trees-"As lurks the soul within the body's cell, "In each broad trunk let separate spirits dwell;