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ORIGINAL POETRY.

ON THE
DEMISE OF BONAPARTE.

IT seeraeth like a dream—but it is true,
The Giant of this earth's wide course is
gone;
France, thou who best his eagle-greatness
knew,
In bitterness of heart thou Ions* shaltmoan
Thy base apostaey, to him thy Chief,
Who, in the hour when War's fell genius
frowned,
Saw thee in listlessness,—yield no relief.

0 thou vile land, while legions pressed him

round. At length thy foemen bore him from thy ground, Andcloseimmured him in Oppression's cell, Where, by restrictive horrors firmly bound,

A victim to their power, Napoleon fell.'.' O lest this deed should wake e'en Virtue's rage, Blot it, O History, blot it from thy page! Enort.

TO MR. GRAY,

On his Odes— written by DAVID Garrick.

Refine not, Gray, that our weak dazzled eyes

Thy daring heights and brightness shun; How few can track the eagle to the skies,

Or like him, gaze upon the sun!

The gentle reader loves the gentle muse,
That little dares, and little means,

Who humbly sips her learniDg from Reviews,
Or flutters in the Magazines.

No longer now from Learning's sncred store
Our minds their health and vigour draw;

Homer and Pindar are rever'd Ko more,
No more the Stagyrite is law.

Though nurs'd by these, in vain thy muse ap

y pears,

To breathe her ardours in our souls;
In vain to sightless eyes and deaden'd ears

The lightning gleams and thunder rolls!

Yet droop not, Gray, nor quit thy Heav'n-born art, Again thy wond'rous powers reveal, Wake slumb'ring Virtue in the Briton's heart, And rouse us to reflect, and feel!

With ancient deeds our long chill'd bosoms fire, Those deeds which mark'd Eliza's reigu! Make Britons Greeks again—then strike the lyre. And Pindar shall not sing in vain.

THE NARCISSUS.

Soon as thy yellow bell has blown,

And round thy green-pipe leaves are grown,

And gennn'd with rain drops pearly; Thou leanest towards thy natal bed, Like thought to youthful visions led,

Which pleasure scattered early.

The sun discerns thee with his ray,

The shade and moonlight o'er llieo stray,

Like lovers fondly meeting;
The air and tempest in their change,
Like friend ami foe caress and range,—

Destroying thee, or greeting.

A few brief days and thou wilt shrink
To die !—like tender frames that think

Beyond their years,—and leave us!
A few brief days!—another race
Will rise from earth and shed their grace,

As hopes to bless, or grieve, us.

Yet, as thy root to Nature true
Again will give thee life and hue,

T' increase thy Maker's beauty;
So Spirits,—if their course be wise,
From the grave's confines will arise

And praise him in their duty. Islington, April (ith, 1821. J. R. Prior.

MELANCHOLY. ArmoRA's fingers spread their tinsell'd gleams. The dawn relieves me from tumultuous

dreams. Ponder I must, if sinking into e;irth: Lost to myself, the world, and nothing worth. Contemplate pleasures, stimulating pain, Though mournful, pleasing — can faithful

mein'ry refrain? Jos.

LINES By MRS. Sheridan,formerly Miss Unlet. Sleep, lovely Bube! sleep on, from danger

free, Thy gentle mother wakes to watch o'er thee, She wakes, thy roiy innocence to guard, Thy soft unconscious smile her dear reward: Sleep, happy Child! nor wish thy peaceful

heart To know the transports which those smiles

impart; For couldst thou know them, thou must also

share The anxious feelings of thy Mother's care. Soon shall her watching eyes, that dread to

seek A fainter tinge upon thy downy cheek, Through tears of silent rapture brighter

shine, To meet the pure and gentle beams of thine.

What What tender hand that rears the humblest

flow'r, And shields its sweetness from the threat'uing

show'r, •

But loves the infant blossom it protects,
And many a brighter tree with scorn rejects?
No wonder, then, that thou, sweet Child,

should'st prove
The fond attentions of maternal love,
Whose early charms, to features not confin'd,
Already speak the graces of the mind.

But when from scenes which purest souls ad-
mire,
Beauty, and taste, and innocence retire,
At once from every gay amusement part,
Yet bear to solitude a sprightly heart;
There only rich in innocence and truth,
Learn mntron duties in the bloom of youth.
Virtue, like this, must real wonder raise,
And by avoiding, will create its praise:
Nor thou, my sister, slight an humble muse,
That loves, from worth like thine, her theme
to choose.

The parent rose, that bends with blushing

pride, O'er the soft bud that clusters to its side, More lovely seems, than w here the stalk has

grown, A single sweet attractive, but alone; For pleasing 'tis to view the ripened flow'r Expose its beauties to the sun-beam's

power, As if content its silken leaves should feed For the iresh opening bud to form a shade. Thus, Mary, when with youth and beuuty

blest. You clasp your smiling infant to your breast, Like the sweet rose a softer grace you gain, Which past the bloom of youth shall still remain.

THE MAGPIE AND HER BROOD.

A FABLE,

From the Tales qfBonaventure desSeriers, Valet de Chambre to the Queen of Navarre.

How anxious is the pensive Parent's thought! How blest the fav'rite fondling's early lot! Joy strings her hours on Pleasure's golden

twine, And Funcy forms it to an endless line. But ah! the charm must cease, or soon or

late, When chicks and mbses rise to woman's

state. The little tyrant grows in turn a slave, And feels the 6oft anxiety she gave. This truth, my pretty friend, an ancient wit, Who many a jocund tale and legend writ, Couch'd in thut age's unaffected guise, When fables were the wisdom of the wise. To careless notes I've tun'd his gotbic style; Content if you approve, and Sui'blk smile.

Once on a time n magpie led

Her little family from home,
To teach them how to earn their bread.

When she in quest of a new mate should
roam.
She pointed to each worm and fly,
That crept on earth or winged the sky,

Or where the beetle buzz'd she call'd.
But all her documents were vain;
They would not budge, the urchin train

But caw'd, and cried, and squall'd.

They wanted to be back at nest,
Close muzzled to mamma's warm breast,
And thought that she, poor soul! must sweat,
Day after day, to find them meat;

Butmudge knew better things.
My loves, said she, behold the plains,
Where storesof food and plenty reigns!
I was not half so big as you,
When me my honour'd mother drew

Forth to the groves.and springs.

She flew away—God rest her sprite!
Tho' I could neither read nor write,

I made a shift to live—
So must you, too; come, hop away;
Get what you can; steal what you may:

The industrious always thrive.

Lord bless us! cried the peevish chits,

Can babes like us li\evby their wits?

With perils compass'd round, can wo

Preserve our lives or liberty?

How shall we 'scape the fowler's snare,

Or gardener's tube erect in air?

If we but pilfer plums or nuts,

The leaden ball will pierce our guts:

And then, mamma, your tender heart will

bleed To see. your little Pics lie dead.

My dears, said die, and buss'd their calloW

bills,
The wise, by foresight, intercept their ills;

And you of no dull lineage came.
To fire a gun it takes some time;
The man must load, the man must prime,

And after that take aim.

He lifts his piece, he winks his eye;

'Twill then be time enough to fly:

You, out of reach, may laugh and chatter;

To bilk a man is no great matter.

Aye! but— But what?— wiry, if the clown

Should reach a stone to knock us down 1

Why if he does, ye brats,
Must not he stoop to reach the stone?
His posture warns jou to be gone j

Birds are not killed like cats.

Still, good mamma, ourcase is hard;

The rogue, you know, may come prepar'd,

A huge stone in his fist!
Indeed! my youngsters, rnadge replies,
If you already arc so wise,

Go, cater where you li*t. H. W,

MEMOIRS

MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS

RECENTLY DECEASED.

OUTLINE of the LIFE and CHARACTER of XAPOLEON BONAPARTE, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, SfC. Sfc.

4 T length that prodigy of humar\ nity has ceased to exist, which, during this generation, lias absorbed the attention of mankind—at length that meteor has disappeared, which, while it enlightened the world, terrified many nations—at length those vital energies have ceased, whose powers were once extended over Europe, and drew forth (he re-action of the civilized world—at length that Conqueror is himself overcome, whose presence always ensured victory over the bravest hosts, and who never suffered defeat, though sometimes baffled by treachery, or overpowered by numbers—at length that ambition is laid asleep for ever, which sought to conquer prejudices; to anticipate centuries of time; to unite Philosophy with Ignorance, and reconcile rights with usurpation—at length Europe is relieved from the shame of continuing a sentence of Ostracism against a man whose character created an idolatry among millions, and enabled him to regulate kingdoms as his own household—at length, in fine, that great man is no more, whose genius and exalted character placed him as a champion between ancient establishments and the rights of man, and between the pretensions of legitimacy, which assert that people were made for the benefit of rulers, and the just claims of reason, which assert that rulers were made for the benefit of people. The tactics of established power, aided by the prejudices of the multitude, have thus for a season prevailed over the self-elected representative of those principles which have taken too deepa root in the understandings of men ever to be eradicated. The victory has not been gained over the principles, but over one who, with great admitted qualities, had nevertheless too many errors of humanity to be considered as the personification of the cause of truth. In being opposed by the worthless, his cause, however, became allied to the cause of virtue, and he had the glory of resisting the machinations of a common enemy, with such rare success, as to extort the admiration of all his con

temporaries. In this respect his cause1 was allied, therefore, to that of virtue and philosophy—but in this respect only;—for his character was too much adulterated, and his personal ambition was too much at variance with the rights of his fellow men, to allow of his being considered by them as the champion of that great cause, the ultimate triumph of which ihust, in a remote age, be secured by the pen and the press, and not by the desolating arts of war.

This great man was bom at Ajaccio, in Corsica, on the loth of Aug. 1769, a period just long enough inadvance of the French revolution, to cause both to arrive at maturity in the same year. He was therefore personally identified with that revolution—was brought up amid the conflict of opinions which produced it; and found himself qualified to seek his fortunes in its vicissitudes, by arriving at manhood in the very year in which the Bastille was taken.

He was the second son of eight children, named Joseph, Napoleon, Lucien, Lewis, Jerome, Elizabeth, Paulina, and Caroline. Charles Bonaparte, the father, was assessor to the tribunal of Ajaccio. The patronage afforded to him by the Count de Marbceuf, who governed the island of Corsica after its conquest by the French, led to the protection of the family of Bonaparte, on the death of the father. It was through his means that young Napoleon was sent to the military school of Brienne, and afterwards to that of Paris, in quality of a king's scholar. He there exhibited very early a desire to acquire a superior knowledge of mathematics, aud a taste for military exercises; but naturally of a retired disposition, he seldom mixed with his comrades. He was invariably fond of imitating the manners and language of the ancients, particularly of the Spartans, whose phrases and pithy manners he adopted.

His propensity to mathematical studies was injurious to his progress in the more ornamental branches of literature; so that he is said never to have acquired a perfect knowledge of the grammar even of his own language, though his public compositions and bulletins are so much distinguished by their eloquence.

In the year 1785, he underwent an examination examination preparatory to being admitted into the artillei-y; there were 30 vacant places, of which tie obtained one, and was appointed second-lieutenant in the regiment of La Fere. One of the professors of the military, charged with the examination, is said to have written by the side of the name of Bonaparte this testimony:—A Corsiean by character and by birth, and if favoured by circumstances, this young man will rise high.

In 1789, he obtained the rank of captain. At the siege of Toulon, in 1793, he commanded the artillery, and distinguished himself by his skill. In the years 1794 and 1795, it was to his plans that the republicans were indebted for the successes which they obtained on the Italian frontier; successes which he himself soon after eclipsed by others far superior. In May, 1795, he Whs appointed to a command in the army of La Vendue, which he refused to accept.

While he was at Paris, Kellerman being beaten in the Genoese territory, Bonaparte was called on to draw up instructions for the army of Italy.— Shortly afterwards he commanded the army of the metropolis, which defended the convention, and defeated the troops of the sections, on the 13th of Vendemiaire. At the desire of the officers and soldiers of the army of Italy, be was then appointed to the command of that army,and this event may lie considered as laying the ground-work of that distinguished name which he afterwards erected for himself, not only in his own armies, but on other soils than France. On the recommendation of Barras, who was much attached to him, he married the widow of the Viscount de Beauharnois. Bonaparte, at that time, was not more than 20 years old; he had never commanded an army, been in a regular battle, nor even assisted at one; but he had youth, knowledge, ardour, science, judgment, and activity; added to which, a high opinion of bis own talents, a confidence in which experience proved he was not mistaken.

The army opposed to him was composed of Austriaus. Sardinians, and Neapolitans; it consisted of 00,000 men, commanded by General Bcaulieu.. After having defeated the enemy, at Millcsimo, liego, Montenotte, and other places, he contrived, in a masterly manner, to separate the Sardinian from the Austrian army; and the King of Sardinia, finding himself without support

nfter he had lost the battle of Mondovi, signed a treaty in his own capital. The Austrian army having no other ally than the King of Naples, was not in a situation to defend the Po nor the Adda. The battle of Lodi was the first sanguinary battle which called forth into action the superior skill and determined courage of this great warrior; the brnverv with which he forced (he passage of the bridge of Lodi, will never De forgotten. It was successful, and put him in possession of Lombardy, though with a great loss of men.

During this time the Austrian! obtained reinforcements, and they made many attempts from the side of the Tyrol and the Venetian states, to compel the republicans to raise the siege of Mantua. Bonaparte did not fail to take advantage of the want of skill and the numerous errors of his enemy, and to profit by them; his central position afforded him an opportunity of engaging and beating one after the other the different corps of the opposing army under Generals Wurmscr and Alvinzi. The battles of Castiglione and flivoli, among others, gave abundant proofs of the tact of Bonaparte, and Mantua 'at length capitulated. In the meantime, the"Pope, the King of Naples, and the minor Italian princes, had been compelled to make peace at the ex pence of great sacrifices. The Austrians being still determined to try the fortune of war, Bonaparte penetrated through Friuli into Germany, and advnneed within thirty leagues of Vienna. He was,however, not seconded in time by the French armies on the Rhine ; and the Archduke Charles, his opponent, having collected a large force, which rendered victory doubtful to the republicans, and defeat highly dangerous, Bonaparte deemed it politic to resort to negnciation. The Austrian cabinet readily consented, and the result was the signing of the preliminaries of Leoben, on the Kith of April, 1797, which left the French in possession of the Netherlands and other conquests, and established a republic, in Italy.

The treaty had hardly been concluded before he declared war against, and overthrew the republic of Venice, and took possession of its fleet, arsenals, treasures, and dominions. lie found means, in the midst of these achievements, to bestow some attention on the Cisalpine republic, which lie had established at Milan, lie afterwards signed the definitive treaty with the Austrians,

at

August, 1799, set sail homeward, with a few officers who were devoted to him. On the 9th of October, 1799, he landed at Frejus, and hastened to Paris, where his presence, so unexpected, produced on the one blind much satisfaction, and on the other some disquietude. He addressed a letter (o the directory, justifying the measures which he had

Imrsued, and explaining those parts of lis conduct which were the objects of censure by the party who did not approve of the war in Egypt. This period was the commencement of (be most remarkable era of his life. AH parlies equally sought General Bonaparte, lie was well aware of tile firm hold which he had on the public opinion, and on which he had already grounded his hopes of support, aiid of obtaining the ascendancy. The directory, indeed, recognised his consequence, for in conjunction with the two councils, they gave a fete in honour of him, in the Temple of Victory. Sieyes and Barras were at that time the leading men in the government; the latter of whom had, for two years, conceived the project of restoring monarchy, not doubting that Bonaparte would coincide with him. The plan was confided to Bonaparte, but the latter had other objects in view.

After many conferences with Sieyes, nnd many of the leading members of the legislative bodies, he, by private letters, convoked a meeting of the then members of the. council of ancients, on whom he could rely, in which was disclosed the project in view. The consequence was, that the sittings of the legislature were transferred to St. Cloud, and General Bonaparte was charged (o take all the necessary measures for the safety of the national representation: the troops of the line, and the national guards, were placed under his orders. Called to the bar of the assembly to hear the decree, he made a speech to (he following effect:—"The national representation was perishing," said he, "you knew i(, anil you are resolved to save it. If shall not perish. Lefebvre, Berliner, and the rest of my brave comrades, are devoted to maintain and defend the republic. In such circumstances all its friends rally (ogelher; (bey swear, as 1 do, fidelity and devn(edness (o (be republic : Its tranquillity will be the result of our oath."

On (be 19(hof November, (be directory, generals, and an immense crowd, F repaired

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