THE LAUNCH OF A FIRST-RATE WRITTEN ON WITNESSING THE SPECTACLE. ENGLAND hails thee with emotion, Heaven resounds thy welcome! Ocean Giant oaks of bold expansion O'er seven hundred acres fell, All to build thy noble mansion, Where our hearts of oak shall dwell. 'Midst those trees the wild deer bounded, Ages long ere we were born, And our great-grandfathers sounded Many a jovial hunting-horn. Oaks that living did inherit Grandeur from our earth and sky, Still robust, the native spirit In your timbers shall not die. Ship to shine in martial story, Thou shalt cleave the ocean's path, Freighted with Britannia's glory And the thunders of her wrath. Foes shall crowd their sails and fly thee, Threat'ning havoc to their deck, When afar they first descry thee; Gallant bark! thy pomp and beauty EPISTLE FROM ALGIERS, TO HORACE SMITH. DEAR HORACE! be melted to tears, For I'm melting with heat as I rhyme ; Though the name of this place is All-jeers, 'Tis no joke to fall in with its clime. With a shaver* from France who came o'er, I am cast on a barbarous shore, Do you ask me the sights and the news Alas! my hotel has its mews, But no muse of the Helicon's spring. * On board the vessel from Marseilles to Algiers I met with a fellow-passenger whom I supposed to be a physician from his dress and manners, and the attentions which he paid me to alleviate the sufferings of my sea-sickness. He turned out to be a perruquier and barber in Algeria-but his voca tion did not lower him in my estimation-for he continuea his attentions till he passed my baggage through the customs and helped me, when half dead with exhaustion, to the best hotel. My windows afford me the sight Of a people all diverse in hue; Here are groups for the painter to take, And the Frenchman disguised in his wine In his breeches of petticoat size You may say as the Mussulman goes, That his garb is a fair compromise "Twixt a kilt and a pair of small-clothes. The Mooresses, shrouded in white, Save two holes for their eyes to give room, Seem like corpses in sport or in spite That have slyly whipp'd out of their tomb. The old Jewish dames make me sick : Such hags should not mount a broom-stick But hipp'd and undined as I am, My hippogriff's course I must rein For the pain of my thirst is no sham, Though I'm bawling aloud for champagne. Dinner's brought; but the wines have no pith-They are flat as the statutes at law; And for all that they bring me, dear Smith! O'er each French trashy dish as I bend, * A mantle worn by the natives. And the round tears, O England' descend Yes, my soul sentimentally craves British beer.-Hail, Britannia, hail! Yet I own, in this hour of my drought, There are melons too, luscious and great, Horrid pun! you'll exclaim; but be calm, TO A YOUNG LADY, WHO ASKED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING ORIGINAL FOR HER ALBUM. AN original something, fair maid, you would win me To write-but how shall I begin? For I fear I have nothing original in me— FRAGMENT OF AN ORATORIO, FROM THE BOOK OF JOB. Having met my illustrious friend the Composer Neukomin, at Algiers, several years ago, I commenced this intended Oratorio at his desire, but he left the place before I proceeded farther in the poein; and it has been thus left unfinished. CRUSH'D by misfortune's yoke, Job lamentably spoke "My boundless curse be on The day that I was born; Quench'd be the star that shone Upon my natal morn. In the grave I long To shroud my breast; Where the wicked cease to wrong, And the weary are at rest.” Then Eliphaz rebuked his wild despair: should bear. Lately, at midnight drear, A vision shook my bones with fear⚫ A spirit pass'd before my face, And yet its form I could not trace; It stopp'd-it stood-it chill'd my blood, The hair upon my flesh uprose With freezing dread! Deep silence reign'd, and, at its close, I heard a voice that said- |