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er seen France; and had been teaching the gibberish of his native province for two years to the daughter of a Russian nobleman, for the true Parisian dialect!

SELECT SENTENCES.

THINK not those faithful who praise all thy words and actions, but those who reprove thy faults.

It is more desirable to distribute the fruits of one's own industry, than to reap the benefit of other people's.

Men are more mindful of wrongs than of benefits, and it is but just that it should be so ; as he who restores a deposite deserves no commendation; but he who detains, blame and punishment.

Such as have virtue always in their mouths, .and neglect it in practice, are like a harp which emits a sound pleasing to others, while itself is insensible of the musick.

It is the only wisdom of man not to think he understands those things which he does not understand.

It is the part of a wise man to prevent inconvenience; of a valiant man, to order it aright when it comes.

POETRY.

FOR THE POLYANTHOS.

TO PSYCHE.

SWEET warbling minstrel of poetick art,
Whose tuneful numbers tranquillize the heart;
Thy rich full notes float on th' enraptured ear,
Soft as thyself, as crystal streamlets clear.
Why does thy lyre its dulcet strains deny,
To soothe the soul, to dry the humid eye
Say; is it pendant in the envious glade,
To pour its whisperings to the silent shade?
Oh! let this supplicating sigh entreat,

?

Thou 'd'st sing again, once more thy song repeat.
The blooming verdure of thy cultured mind,
Must not so soon t' oblivion be consigned,

But wave its foilage o'er thy native soil,
While all shall hail thee with a rapturous smile.

Oh! would to heaven, thou matchless maid,
In more than mortal charms arrayed,
Thou'd to thy votary lend

One chord, her tuneless harp t' adorn,
I'd breathe thy name each rising morn,
And praises to thee send.

Dorchester, March 8, 1807.

EMMA.

FOR THE POLYANTHOS.

EFFUSION OF A MELANCHOLY HOUR.

Fly swifter on, ye lingering hours,

Ye tardy moments fly;

For nought but misery's phantom lowers,

To check the bursting sigh.

To others ye bring sweet delight,

To me, alas! denied,

For sorrow dims my aching sight,
And well its spring's supplied.

My mind I'll lave in musick's fount,
I'll catch a spark divine,

And on the wings of fancy, mount
The muses' hallowed shrine.

And should the tuneful sisters deign
Upon my lip to smile,

My harp I'd sweep in pensive strain,
And one sad hour beguile.

I'd pour along the liquid air,
The sorrows of my heart,
I'd sing the pathos of despair,
With wildness' thrilling art.

Perhaps some child of mental wo,
A prey to love's disease,

Shall catch the murmurs as they flow,
Meandering on the breeze.

.Y...VOL. 4.

Perhaps sweet Pity's tear shall beam
Upon this wasted form,

I'll cherish fond the pleasing gleam,
This hapless breast 'twill warm.

The rays that beam in her soft face
Are richer far to me,

Than all the gems that Peru grace,

Or glitter in the sea.

For though but twice-ten Springs have bloomed

For me their sweets around,

I've felt the soul, desponding, gloomed

With scorn's deep-rankling wound./

Dorchester, March 4, 1807.

EMMA

THE SMILE.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF CHIABRERA.

BEAUTEOUS Roses, not with Morn
From the thorn

Scattering sweet but transient pleasures
You, whom, round the lips display'd,
Love has made

Guardians of his pearly treasures!

Dear to Love, sweet Roses! tell
If I dwell

Fondly those bright eyes beholding,

As I gaze, and gazing sigh,

Tell me why

You expand in smiles unfolding?

Conscious, I could ill sustain
Your disdain,

Seek you thus my life to cherish?
Is it, that you feel delight
In the sight

Of the pangs by which I perish?

Beauteous Roses, be your joy
To destroy

Or to save, since thus you show it, Still will I in novel lays

Sing your praise,

But O smile upon your Poet!

If, at day-spring as we pass
Through the grass,

Murmur rills and whisper breezes ; If, with flowers the mead looks gay, Sooth'd we say,

How the smiling landscape pleases!

When his foot blythe Zephyr laves
In the waves,

That with gently gliding motion
Hardly rippling on the sand,
Kiss the strand;

See, we cry, how smiles old Ocean 1

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