Sons of the Seine, the Rhine, the Po! Shake off your chains, your sighs forego; True was the blow, th' associate blow, And Heaven the union crown'd.

Peace to the world!-to France be peace:
A liberal grant, and free release,
Such as the brave, when tumults cease,
May of the brave implore :

Fall'n is the foe, the foe of all;

When fight the brave, 'tis ne'er t' enthrall;

Bourbon obeys his country's call,

And France is France once more.

Peace to the world, and mutual love!
And mutual bonds, by wisdom wove,—
Vows sworn below, and seal'd above
The concord guarantee:

This be the pledge-With equal hand
To uphold the rights of every land,
To guard the weak, the strong withstand,
And let the world be free.

Peace to the world! But let the world,
Where breeze has ever sail unfurl'd,
Where human blood has ever purl'd,

Enjoy its equal claim:

O, shame to Europe! should the race,
Whose sufferings load her with disgrace,
Should Afric's sons not find a place,-
To Christian Europe shame.

Peace to the world!-Be France the first
To echo round the general burst;
France heaviest bound, and most accurst:

But should she prove untrue;

Just freed from Slavery, should she rave
Herself to ravage and enslave,

Or, to fetter others cross the wave,
Soon will her plagues renew!

Peace to the world!-be this our prayer.
But every ill may Britain dare,
Rather than yield her generous care
For Afric's helpless throng:

Peace to the world-good will to all,
And free as Britain be the Ball;

We ask but this your coasts t' unthrall;
Then join THE BRITISH SONG.

MARGARETTA TO REBECCA.

January 1st, 1817.

The year is gone!—another year,

With all its changeful hours:

But, through each change, we still are here,

And every wish is ours.

Change through all being there must be;

For such is nature's law:

But nature's self must change, should we Our early love withdraw.

ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES.

November 1817.

There was a star whose opening eye
Mid vapours rose o'er Britain's sky:
Yet clear'd the vapours as it pass'd,
And soon a peerless lustre cast.

It was a star whose influence shed
The balm of hope o'er every head:
The nation eyed it from afar,

And bless'd that young and rising star.

Amid the train of yesternight
I saw that gem of purest light:
To-night I sought its lucid car—
I sought, but there was no such star.

It is not fallen :-O rather
say,
Onward it shoots its shining way:
It is not fallen-'tis only given
To radiate in a brighter heaven.

TO MY LITTLE GRANDSON,

On his first noticing and being riveted by the appearance of the Moon, 11th December, 1818.

Infant sage ! still gaze above;

They are realms of peace and love:

Let the Moon's aërial dance

All thy little powers entrance;

And while young wonder fills thine eyes,
I will, too, philosophize.

Thou, like her, art new to earth,
Still rejoicing in thy birth:
With silver front and eye of glee,
Fair, and fresh, and pure as she;
Sent a little space to cheer
With thy light our humble sphere.

Long, O! long, sweet babe, as now,
May no gloom o'ercast thy brow:
No star malignant, from above,
Eclipse that purple light of love;
Nor earth's low clouds, or storms, defile
The lustre of that heavenly smile.

And when thy course beneath the sun
(For thou must wax and wane) is run,
Soft mayst thou sink to rest, and rise
Still lovelier, shap'd in fairer skies,

Where God's own beams the noontide pour,
And suns and moons are known no more.

LINES

Written and left behind at Buxton, on passing through it, September 9th, 1823.

Where is the Spirit that bestows

This healing in the spring?
Gives back the faded cheek its rose,
And makes the cripple sing?

Where is the Power that piles the hills,

Or splits their marble sides?

With secret fires their caverns fills,

And leads their sparry tides?

O ye, who in propitious hour
Your course have hither bent-
He is that Spirit-his the Power
Your tottering steps that sent.

Behold his mercy and his might;
Pause, tremble, and adore:
And let his love your praise excite,
And tempt his wrath no more!

Many of those who have watched the progress of our periodical literature during the present century, will have traced the history, and regretted the extinction, of "THE BRITISH REVIEW;" which, from the beginning of 1811 to nearly the end of 1822, was published quarterly, under the able superintendence of Mr. Roberts, the author of the "Looker On." To this Review Mr. Good, who had long cherished habits of the closest intimacy with Mr. Roberts, contributed several articles; of which, however, I have not been able to obtain a complete list. I need not hesitate to assign to him A Review of the Physiognomical System of Drs. Gall and Spurzheim, in No. 11.-An Account of Townsend's Character of Moses; and of Professor Adelung's Mithridates, or History of Languages, in No. 12.—A Review of Dr. Marshman's Chinese Grammar; and another of Sismondi on Spanish Literature, in No. 13. Several other articles were jointly contributed by these literary friends; but I am not able precisely to specify them, and feel no temptation to deal in conjecture.

In the year 1820, Mr. Good, pursuant to the advice of several medical friends, and the earnest entreaty of others, entered upon a more elevated department