If now, thy life's meridian gone,
Such beauty still be thine,

guess, when its first morning shone
What joy and love were mine!

MUTAT VIA LONGA PUELLAS.-Propertius.
YES, while I linger far away,
Remembrance oft shall sooth my mind,
And paint with glowing hues the day
When first I saw thee fair and kind.

How oft I'll think upon that hour,
When first thy looks and eyes confest
Each secret wish, and own'd Love's power
Had fann'd the flame within thy breast!

Yet, once before we part, once more
From thy ripe lips one kiss bestow,
And bid me feel, as oft before,
My heart with kindling rapture glow.
And O forgive the jealous fear,
While far away from thee I rove,
And anxious pour the bitter tear,
And think on all our former love;

Let no fond youth with siren strain
Entice and lure thy heart from me;
And nought, I swear, shall break the chain
Which binds my willing soul to thee!

Then give again that kiss, my fair,
Affection's surest tenderest seal,
And I will chase each rising care,
And hush each jealous doubt I feel.

ON SEEING A MAN FISHING.

Whilst thou with hooks the silly fish dost kill,

Perhaps, the devil's hook sticks in thy gill.

AN UNTOUCHED SUBJECT.

Dullman, who would be thought a wit,
Met me, one evening, in the pit;
Said he, I'll something write for you,
Both very odd and very new:
Here, Dæmon interrupted him,

I'll help thee, said he, to a theme;

A theme well worthy of thy muse,

Which none e'er chose, or e'er would choose:

And which will yield thee most delight,

Ev'n thy own panegyric write.

BY MR. S. DODD.

Joe hates a sycophant,-it shows.
Self-love is not a fault of Joe's.

TO A LIVING AUTHOR.

Your comedy I've read, my friend,
And like the half you pilfer'd, best;

But
sure, the piece, you yet may mend:
Take courage, man, and steal the rest.

COMMON THINGS BEST.

All mortal things are frail, and go to pot,
What wonder then, if mortal trowsers rot!
My velvet torn, I shone in mimic shag,
Those soon grew rusty, and began to flag.
Buckskin was greasy, Serge was mighty queer;
Camblet was airy, but how apt to tear!
Quoth I, sir Bodkin, shall we try a rug?
Yes, sir, says he, that sure will hold a tug.
Ah no, the rug decay'd, like all the past,
Even everlasting would not ever last;
At length, guess how I fix'd it? Why, in troth,
With projects tir'd, I stuck to common cloth.

ORIGINAL POETRY.-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

MR. OLDSCHOOL,

The following lines were originally entitled, "An inscription for a monu. ment at Richmond." The reflections, however, suggested by the subject, having extended beyond the limits usually allowed to inscriptive composition, they are now offered without a name; and may be supposed the natural effusions of every mind, on contemplating the scene of that memorable conflagration.

PILGRIM, whose pious steps have led thee on,

To pause and ponder at this sacred shrine,
Where relics rest, of sanctifying power,
Greater than Mecca or Loretto knew;
Lo! this the spot where, at the very hour
Of social sentiment, of scenic show,

When eye met eye participant of pleasure,
As pass'd the varied forms of mimic life-
E'en at an hour like this, came Death's dread angel,
Shrouding his mystic form in smoke and flame,
And still dilating till his presence fill'd

Rapid the dome--through blazing fires-anon
Through deepest darkness-here his mighty arms
Grasp'd close his victims!

Pilgrim no common sigh,
No vulgar tear! Profane not dust like this

With aught but purest griefs, with holiest sorrows,
Meet for the good, the great, the brave, the fair!
How much of worth-worth greatest at the last!
If e'er thy heart throbb'd high at the remembrance
Of him who bore, from Ilion's heaven-doom'd walls,
And smoking battlements, his aged sire;
Or her who sought, in Gallia's guilty hour,
Death with the friend she lov'd; or, later yet,
The glorious Scot, whose daring aid preserv❜d,
Spite of the searching flames of civil war,
Hundreds of hearts-who shall attest his praise

Princess de Lamballe. † Duncan M'Intosh.

In earth-and heaven! O, if thy spirit stirr'd
At such exploits, look here; and it shall own
Kindred pulsations. Here Affection prov'd
As proud a triumph; undismay'd at Danger;
Strong ev'n as Death, and dearer far than life,
Embrac'd the fiery ordeal of her faith.

Think on't-th' admiring thought shall flush thy cheek, And dry the dews of Pity. Sooth thee, too,

To think what they were spar'd! Not theirs to totter

Unto the utmost verge of useless life,

And tremble on the brink, dreading to go,

Yet unallow'd to stay. Not theirs to feel
Ling'ring disease-that slow but certain poison,
Perpetual martyrdom, incessant death.

Nor what were even worse, if worse can be,
To witness such decay-the wasted form,
The ruin'd intellect, the fever'd brain;
The fitful hectic of the cheek, succeeded
By pallid hollownessand oh! the eyes
That roll their wild dilated orbs around,
Imploring aid-till the beholder's heart
Hails with a kind of horrid hope the hour,
That ends the being which was best belov'd!
God, of his mercy, spar'd them sight. like these!
And gave their final moment one brief pang,

That pang the first and last. "These died together, "Happy in ruin, undivorc'd by death."

Their love so powerful was not left to dull

On earth's low cares its fervors, but preferr'd
To where its essence shall be more sublim'd

Its ecstasy exhaustless. And if e'er,
Stranger, the wretched havoc which the passions
Too often make, has pierc'd thy pride of nature,
"Twill heal thy heart to know they here asserted
Their native rank, primeval destination,
The firm allies and generous guards of virtue.
"Twill raise thy hopes of man, and lift thy prayer
To Him, who, when he form'd our beings mortal,

Made them immortal too,-that be thy call,

As sudden, thou mayst breast thee to the shock,
And buffet Fate as greatly, gallantly,

As those who perish'd here!

TO THE MEMORY OF A HERO.

We have received from a friend a copy of the following Latin Ode to the memory of the late Col. Daviess, to which is subjoined an English translation of it.

In Gloriosam Mortem magnanimi equitum ducis Joseph Hamilton Daviess, patriae amoris victimae in Tippecanoe pugna ad amnem Wabaschum, 7. die Nov. 1811. Epicedium; Honorabili viro Joanni Rowan meo ipsiusque amico dicatum.

AUTUMNUS felix aderat granaria complens

Frugibus; umbrosas patulis jam frondibus ulmos
Exuerat brumæ proprior, cum Fama per orbem
Non rumore vago fatalia nuncia defert:

"Sub specie pacis Sylvæcola perfidus atra
"Nocte viros inopino plumbo occidit et hasta;
"Dux equitum triplici confos-us vulnere, fortis
"Occubuit; turma hostiles periere fugatæ,
"Hostilesque casas merito ultrix flamma voravit."
Mensibus Estivis portenderat ista Cometes
Funera; Terra quatit repetitis motibus; ægre
Volvit sanguineas Wabaschus tardior undas;
Ingeminant Dryades suspiria longa; Hymenæus
Deficit audita clade, et solatia spernit
Omnia; triste silet Musarum turba; fidelis
Luget Amicities, lugubri tegmine vestit
Et caput et lævam, desiderioque dolentis.

Non pudor aut modus est. Lacrymas at fundere inanes
Quid juvat? Heu lacrymis nil Fata moventur acerba!
Ergo pia Themidis meliora oracula poscunt
Unanimes; diram causam Themis aure benigna
Excipit, et mox decretum pronunciat æquum;