Unmov'd he met, in all these toils of state,
His sov'reign's anger, or the people's hate;
Undaunted bore e'en Poverty's cold hour,
And spurn'd the trappings or the frowns of Pow'r.
With knowledge stor'd, his unassuming mind
Liv'd but to feel-and felt to serve mankind;
Not check'd by climate, not confin'd to place,
He heal'd the wounds of Afric's suff'ring race,
Restor'd those rights their great Creator gave,
And tore from Av'rice her much-injur'd slave.
When far remov'd from cares of public life,
Its varnish'd tinsel, and its thankless strife,
In the calm shelter of his Sabine farm,
(Midst Faction's din, or Folly's false alarm,)
Serene, compos'd, his only wish to please,

With long-lov'd friends, with books, with letter'd ease;
He each soft charm, each milder grace display'd,
That cheers Retirement in her classic shade;
Stills each fierce passion rous'd by love of pow'r,
And strews with flow'rs each dear domestic hour:
Hail, gentle spirit! though in dust you lie,
While England lives, thy virtues ne'er can die..
Though many a year to barren toil you lent,
Though many a year in fruitless labour spent ;
When our lov'd country, Freedom's last retreat,
Of arts, of arms, alike the favour'd seat,
Sees the black prospect op'ning at her feet;
When all she lost by Bigotry's vile league,
By wild Profusion, or by low Intrigue;,
When all she suffer'd passes in review,
Thy slighted counsels and advice she'll rue;
Thy upright heart, devoid of guile, record,
Invoke thy shade, and pay thy just reward.
For come it must the time (however late)
When fiend-like Envy sleeps with party Hate;
When all the actors of this busy age

Will pass hike phantoms from life's checquer'd stage,
Our stern debates, our stormy conflicts ofer,

Alike forgotten on Oblivion's shore ;..
Then you shall rival, with increasing fame,

}

Hampden's proud wreath, and Alfred's spotless name;

Them

Then you shall live in many a polish'd strain,
Through many a distant, many a pine-clad plain;
Where wild La Plata rolls her foaming wave,
And ev'ry clime Atlantic billows lave.

The young, the gay, the warlike, and the bold,.
Shall plant the cypress round thy hallow'd mould;
Beauty's fair hand shall deck thy trophied bier,
Beauty's bright eye shall drop the silent tear;
Her fairy form, with ev'ry grace array'd,
Her pensive look shall soothe thy honour'd shade;
The wise, the good, shall all lament thy doom,
And crowd, like pilgrims, to thy long-mourn'd tomb.

THE MONSTER.

[From the British Press, Sept. 12.}

THE crowd was gather'd upon the green,
Thick as heath-buds at noon-
Young Lubin heard there was to be seen
A Monster, of hideous size and mien,

That had just fall'n down from the moon.

Straight to the spot young Lubin flew,
The horrible object to see-

When quickly the Monster met his view;
At the sight pale as death directly he grew,.
Though harmless it seem'd to be.

On the grass, in confusion, it lay in a heap,
But the heap appear'd wondrous small-
So quiet and patient it seem'd to keep,
It was certainly either dead or asleep,
Or stunn'd, perhaps, by its fall.

But no bounds British humanity knows,
And quickly bestows its boon,

Nor heeds it from whence the object flows,
Whether 't was come from the Iceland snows,

Or a monster just dropt from the moon.

So

So to raise it up they soon begin,

And with tubes instead of a spoon,
With bits of iron chopt small and thin,
Mix'd with a liquid much stronger than gin,
They fed this grim elf of the moon,
And many a tub-full it swallow'd down,
So great was its hunger and thirst;
Till as large as a house it had speedily grown,
And many folks there a fear made known,
That it certainly soon would burst.
Then its head, now proudly rais'd on high,
It awfully shook in the air;
Away it oft seem'd inclin'd to fly,

And round it a net they had thrown so sly,
But it seem'd to defy every care.

Now to a boat that was standing near,
By many a rope it was tied:

The crowd, all around, seem'd entranc'd with fear,
When, strange and ungrateful as it may appear,
To escape it still oftentimes tried.

But the boat seem'd too light to hold it down,
And in it jump'd two gallant men;
Yet their weight was scarce sufficient alone,
So in it some bags of sand too were thrown,
And by fresh ropes 't was held even then,
But, strange to relate, the strength was so great
Of this Monster so grim and so rare,

That it broke from the ropes, and in spite of the weight
Of the bags and the men who in the boat sat,

It bore them away in the air.

That instant the people halloo'd aloud,

But heedless the Monster kept on ::

'T was soon scarcely seen by the wondering crowd;
At length it became quite enwrapt in a cloud,
From whence it was no longer seen.

Who thought that a thing so small to see,
Would increase to so wondrous a size?
Who thought it so very ungrateful could be,
As away with those friends that fed it to flee,
And bear them beyond the skies.}

Away Lubin ran, lest the elf should return,

And bear him away to the moon ;

The name of the Monster he wish'd to discern,

But of all that he ask'd, this was all he could learn,
That 't was call'd an Air Balloon!

W.H.

MAKING A NOISE IN THE WORLD.

IO BACCHE!

[From the Morning Herald, Sept. 13.]

MR. EDITOR,

THE

HE love of noise is a passion more inherent and appertaining to the natives of this Isle than to any people in the world; and it is singular enough, that no rank or degree in it but pants with delight for it. Many clubs and nocturnal meetings are instituted, where none resort, or can be admitted as members, but such as are disposed to make that particular noise only, which is most agreeable to the company. Thus the members of one club vent their noise in politics; those of another in critical dissertations upon eating and drinking; a third in story-telling; and a fourth in a constant rotation of merry songs. The Ladies, indeed, are somewhat more limited in their topics for noise; they also lie under the disadvantage of having voices of a tone too soft and delicate to be heard at a distance, but they generally make up for that defi ciency by agreeing to talk all together; and, as the subject with them is most generally of the vituperative kind, they are able to cope with the men, even at the most vociferous of any of their clubs.

Again, those diversions here, in which noise most abounds, have been always held in the highest esteem. The true and criginal Country Squire, who is actuated by this general passion for noise, prefers the diversion of hunting to all the enjoyments upon earth.

He

He can entertain his companions with extolling his hounds, and the divine music of their tongues, and scarce ever goes to bed without winding the horn, or having the full cry in his parlour. Horse-racing, cock-fighting, bull-baiting, and the like sports, fill the hearts of the common people with extravagant delight, whilst their voices manifest their gratification by the loudest shouts and ejaculations. In the opinion of our English sailors, no entertainment can be complete without three cheers, by the force of which they are so inspired, that fighting itself becomes their diversion.

In London, the fashion for noise assumes various shapes. It has given rise to routs, concerts, and racketting, in attitudes innumerable; and as a proof that the names given to those polite assemblies are perfectly applicable, I need only remark, that they are usually composed of what is called the best company, who from time immemorial have pleaded the privilege of birth for talking as loud as they can.

Among the many instances of the effects of this passion in high life, I shall only notice one more, which is a very ingenious method, unknown to our forefathers, of making a thundering noise at people's doors; by which you are given to understand, that some person of consequence does you the honour to suppose that you are in the land of the living.

Some may think that it will bear a dispute, whether such a violent hammering at people's doors does not appear, in the eye of the law, as an attempt at a forcible entry; but, in my humble judgment, it looks more like assault and battery, since it may easily be proved, that the most of those who are guilty of this misdemeanor, have really no intention. of making any entry at all; for when the doors are opened to them, they generally make their retreat as fast as they can, flying from the faces of those whom

they