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Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind, And will soon leave these islets of Ariel behind.

What billows, what gales is she fated to prove,

Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I love!

Yet pleasant the swell of the billows would be,

And the roar of those gales would be music to me.

Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew,

Not the sunniest tears of the summer-eve dew,

Were as sweet as the storm, or as bright as the foam

Of the surge, that would hurry your

wanderer home.

THE STEERSMAN'S SONG,

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 28TH APRIL.3

WHEN freshly blows the northern gale,
And under courses snug we fly;

Or when light breezes swell the sail,
And royals proudly sweep the sky;
'Longside the wheel, unwearied still
I stand, and, as my watchful eye
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill,
I think of her I love, and cry,

Port, my boy! port.

When calms delay, or breezes blow
Right from the point we wish to steer;
When by the wind close-hauled we go,
And strive in vain the port to near;

I think 't is thus the fates defer
My bliss with one that 's far away,
And while remembrance springs to her,
I watch the sails and sighing say,

Thus, my boy! thus.

But see the wind draws kindly aft,
All hands are up the yards to square,
And now the floating stu'n-sails waft

Our stately ship thro' waves and air.

3 I left Bermuda in the Boston about the middle of April, in company with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the latter of which was the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society and good-fellowship to both. We separated in a few days, and the Boston after a short cruise proceeded to New York.

Oh! then I think that yet for me

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee And in that hope I smiling sing, Steady, boy! so.

TO THE FIRE-FLY.1 AT morning, when the earth and sky Are glowing with the light of spring, We see thee not, thou humble fly!

Nor think upon thy gleaming wing.

But when the skies have lost their hue,
And sunny lights no longer play,
Oh then we see and bless thee too
For sparkling o'er the dreary way.
Thus let me hope, when lost to me

The lights that now my life illume, Some milder joys may come, like thee, To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom!

ΤΟ

THE LORD VISCOUNT FORBES.

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON.

IF former times had never left a trace
Of human frailty in their onward race,
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they

ran,

One dark memorial of the crimes of man; If every age, in new unconscious prime, Rose, like a phenix, from the fires of time, To wing its way unguided and alone, The future smiling and the past unknown; Then ardent man would to himself be new, Earth at his foot and heaven within his view :

Well might the novice hope, the sanguine scheme

Of full perfection prompt his daring dream,

Ere cold experience, with her veteran lore,

Could tell him, fools had dreamt as much before.

But, tracing as we do, through age and clime,

The plans of virtue midst the deeds of crime,

1 The lively and varying illumination, with which these fire-flies light up the woods at night, gives quite an idea of enchantment.

"Puis ces mouches se developpant de l'obscurité de ces arbres et s'approchant de nous, nous les voyions

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sur les orangers voisins, qu'ils mettoient tout en feu, nous rendant la vue de leurs beaux fruits dorés que la nuit avoit ravie," etc.-- See "L'Histoire des Antilles," art. 2. chap. 4. liv. i.

2 Thus Morse. "Here the sciences and the arts of civilized life are to receive their highest improvements: here civil and religious liberty are to flourish, unchecked by the cruel hand of civil or ecclesiastical tyranny: here genius, aided by all the improvements of former ages, is to be exerted in humanizing mankind, in expanding and enriching their minds with religious and philosophical knowledge," etc.-P. 569.

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1 "What will be the old age of this government, if it is thus early decrepit!" Such was the remark of Fauchet, the French minister at Philadelphia, in that famous despatch to his government, which was intercepted by one of our cruisers in the year 1794. This curious memorial may be found in Porcupine's Works, vol. i. p. 279. It remains a striking monument of republican intrigue on one side and republican profligacy on the other; and I would recommend the perusal of it to every honest politician, who may labor under a moment's delusion with respect to the purity of American patriotism.

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The medley mass of pride and misery, Of whips and charters, manacles and rights,

Of slaving blacks and democratic whites,

justify those arbitrary steps of the English government which the colonies found it so necessary to resist; my only object here is to expose the selfish motives of some of the leading American demagogues.

3 The most persevering enemy to the interests of this country, amongst the politicians of the western world, has been a Virginian merchant, who, finding it easier to settle his conscience than his debts, was one of the first to raise the standard against Great Britain, and has ever since endeavored to revenge upon the whole country the obligations which he lies under to a few of its merchants.

4 See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania Insurrection in 1794. In short, see Porcupine's works throughout, for ample corroboration of every sentiment which I have ventured to express. In saying this, I refer less to the comments of that writer than to the occurrences which he has related and the documents which he has preserved. Opinion may be suspected of bias, but facts speak for themselves.

5 In Virginia the effects of this system begin to be felt rather seriously. While the master raves of liberty, the slave cannot but catch the contagion, and accordingly there seldom elapses month without some alarm of insurrection

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