ORIGINAL POETRY FOR THE PORT FOLIO. O! where'er thy voice be try'd, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Aid slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain: MR. OLDSCHOOL, Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain,-GOLDSMITH. I send you the following stanzas, in gratitude for the pleasure some of your fugitive Port Folios have afforded me; I am not a poet, but only a poor soldier. But, amid my military cares, I find some leisure for scribbling; a habit, which you may encourage, or not, as you please. If you insert the subsequent poem, please to forward to me one, or two copies; and, when we take Canada, or South America, I will become one of your most munificent patrons. I am respectfully yours, ALEXIS. EFFUSION TO HYGEIA. Written on my recovery from procrastinated indisposition. Joy's ecstatic blush returns; Again my blood with ardour burns From thy inspiring smile: O Health! Thy form the bloom of Heaven, Our sorrows to beguile. # While beauty charms, or love can bind, Thy power shall man adore; And lovely woman, prone to sigh, Shall smile most sweet, when thou art nigh,. Health's soft suffusion of our frame, Its rosy mantling on the face; Joy's thrilling pulse, and love's bright flame: 'Tis thine, BLEST POWER! alone to give; To banish pain, and bid us live, The ethereal spark, which God has given, Receives from Thee th' enkindling glow, Who worships Thee, and would be blest, "Thy various powers of form and mind, "Yield not to Indolence, or Fear; "Shun Syren Vice, and all her charms; Sacket's Harbour, Lake Ontario, December 13th, 1808. ALEXIS. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. THE WOODLANDS. To view thy wonders, ROME, I used to sigh, Rear'd by his care, unnumber'd balmy sweets, Led on by Fancy's secret, magic call, What charms, what beauties strike my raptur'd eyes! A god pursues, the flying maiden shrieks; Or Night,* with starry robe and silver bow, Then, while within the Woodland's fair domain, LAURA. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. TO STELLA. Yes, lovely maid, thy truant sigh Has reached thy Henry's faithful breast; And could'st thou think, within that soul, No, scorning reason's stern control, Yet vain thy wish, too charming maid, And hence, no, never shall it roam. • The picture of Night, is one of the most beautiful in the Collection: VOL. T. Y But press'd upon this bleeding heart, Which long with dark despair hath strove; A sov'reign balm it shall impart, Assurance of my Stella's love. HENRY DE CLIFFORD. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. SONG. THOUGH SOMe who prate of love's combustion, But deal in travesty and fustian, Because it is the fashion; Cupid at me of late let drive, No other work of Nature's hand, No vision of the fancy, Nothing in heaven or earth or air, With her the Graces and the Nine, And all that poets call divine, Can challenge no comparisons; But Venus, Hebe and the rest, With more than mortal beauty blest, When Nature form'd the nymph so neat, Dame Venus like a vixen bold, Impell'd by Envy broke the mold, And I would turn, with all my heart, If Mahomet had one such; Would scale his walls of paradise, Or break the gate down in a trice; But Mahomet has none such. AQUILA QUIZ. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. THE wind howl'd o'er the snowy plain, In whirling drifts on Logan's hill, The villagers, a simple train, Around our cheerful, blazing fire, The fleeting hours were gayly spent, And sweet domestic chat. The cold north-east might keener blow, In icy-fetters bound; We heeded not the chilly air, For smiling friendship crown'd us there, And wit went flashing round. When o'er the deep blue vault of heaven, Majestic rose the star of even, With silver-tinged ray; |