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On earth's green bed some curious plant inclined;

Some tender bird the woodland song would troll,

And leave the melting music in my soul;

Gazing on lovely nature while I grieve, I think on Nature's Author....fear and live!

I hail the desert which religion chose, Severe, to build the wanderer's last sad house;

Grown weary of the world's unpiteous eye, Wailing for him who never heard the sigh,

Fresh tears stood in my eyes, and sweetly stole,

Melting the fears that shake a woman's soul.

The holy Abbey in the twilight gleam Breathed a celestial calm..... How rapturous stole,

The oraison from my delighted soul! 'Twas inspiration all, ecstatic prayer! I bend, and lo! a vision fills the air! Heaven opens here, and here its Seraphs dwell!

The air was still, the sleepy light When passion burns beneath the
was grey,
saintly stole?

When faint and sad I crossed my
hands to pray;
he evening star illum'd her bashful

I hear your vesper's sweet responses swell!

Amid the choral symphonies ye sung, I hear the warblings of my lover's tongue!

"Twas like a dream when madness shakes the brain; The trembling pleasure fills my soul with pain.

Scarce mounts the life-blood to his ashy cheek:


'twas Cominge! th' imperfect face inclined,

Marked by the traces of a ruined mind.

At length 'twas silence; your lone gate I found,

Strike the small bell, and tremble with the sound;

That sound so dear to many a pilgrim nigh,

Who seeks the desert's hospitality. There without breath to form a sigh, I wait, While my heart bounded to the turning gate; And lo! with downcast eyes a Father meek!

'Twas then I vowed, the impious deed forgive,

A woman vowed beneath your roof to live!

From silence, and from solitude, I sought

Stillness of soul, and loneliness of thought.

But gives the holy spot a holy mind?
A saint is oft a criminal confined.
The lifted torch that gilds the pomp of

The anthem swelling in the gorgeous
Think ye such forms can wing the sin
ner's soul,

These frightful shades some transient pleasures move; How sweet to watch the motions of my love!

O'er his still griefs in secrecy to melt, And kneel on the same cushion where he knelt;

Musing on him, to sit beneath the tree, Where a few minutes past he mused on me!

With manual toil my slender frame is worn,

The faggot gathered, and the water borne.

Faint where the gushing rock its current spread,

The ponderous waters trembled on my head; Or toiling breathless in the winding wood, Moaning beside the forming pile I stood;

Silent he viewed me with a pitying smile,

Bore half my vase, and bound with his my pile.

Oft hovering near him has my fluttering heart

Bade me my life's unfinished tale impart;

Once lost in frenzy at the solemn hour Ye dig your channels to death's silent


And more than human in th' unnatural Once more his mistress to his hermit glooms


With hope and fear ye sit beside your tombs,

Love's sweet vibration woke his trembling soul;

I marked his eager hand sublimely mould

Tears dropt his stony eyes, and murmurs stole

The house sepulchral which himself must hold;

I hear the sullen spade with iron sound, Wild on his grave I shriek and wail around!

Th' eternal silence broke !....he censures mild

A holy man with worldly sorrow wild. Hast thou not known (I cried) some human woe

That lives beyond the tears it caused to flow?....

Deep was the groan the fond inquiry moved;

Deep was the groan that told how still he loved!

He flies me, but to the recalling tone He turns! he hears a voice so loved, so known!

But ah, th' uncertain voice but fancy deems,

Starting like one half-wakeful in his dreams.

Who with religion's pale atonement pleads,

Leans on a thorn, and tho' supported bleeds;

She, the stern mother of each stubborn


Scares its desponding eyes with terrors wild;

Yet a soft balm her seraph-hand can pour

On hearts that pant not, and can love

no more;

Me all ungracious, prayer nor penance
My heart rebellious grasped the crime
it loved.

What though I dropt a tear before the

Thine was the image, and the tear was

Ah, let thy voice but speak, thy hand
but wave;
Approach and hide the horror of the
Cominge how chill my blood! how
dark my eye!
Ah, soon perhaps....farewel, Cominge

....I die!

She dies to all, but to Cominge!.... he prest

From his mute tongue....ah, poor dis

traction's child!

He holds with her who was, a con-
verse wild;
Distraction's child! still doat upon
thy shade!

Still grasp a corse thou deem'st thy
living maid.

O could thy soul this little moment keep,

Gaze on cold eyes, and kiss th' unkissing lip!


all has past!.....Despair, and Thought, and Pain Rend the fine texture of the working brain.

Few hours shall part ye, and one tomb receive,

While Hermit-Lovers there, assem bling grieve!

For the Literary Magazine.


[An English Viscount has lately translated from the Portuguese, several Canzonets and Sonnets of Camoens, who has been hitherto known to the English reader as the author of the Lusiad. These poems discover that their writer was a man of uncommon sensibility, that he was the enthusiast of beauty, and a vivid painter of charms. They cannot fail to interest all whose eyes have melted with the tears, and whose bosoms have beat with the fervour of love. Two specimens will enable our readers to judge of these luxu riant wild flowers of poesy.]

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And birds are still, and winds serene, I wander silently;

And while my lone steps print the dew, Dear are the dreams that bless my view,

To memory's eye the maid appears, For whom have sprung my sweetest tears,

So oft, so tenderly.

I see her, as with graceful care
She binds her braids of sunny hair;
I feel her harp's melodious thrill
Strike to my heart...and thence be still,
Re-echo'd faithfully:

I meet her mild and quiet eye,
Drink the warm spirit of her sigh,
See young love beating in her breast,
And wish to mine its pulses prest,
Ah, me! how fervently.

Such are my hours of dear delight, And morn but makes me long for night, And think how swift the minutes flew, When last amongst the dropping dew I wander'd silently.

TuE revival of the war between France and England, which took place at the close of the last year, has not hitherto been productive of any very important events. It is, however, in many respects, the most remarkable that has ever hitherto occurred. France by the continuance of peace between her and her immediate neighbours, is at liberty to bend her whole force against England. England, by her insular situation and by her great maritime force, puts her enemy at bay. France has no option but to aim an expedition against Great Britain, to embarrass the English commerce on the continent, and to seize whatever territories on the continent belong to England.

For the Literary Magazine.


The first object at present engages the attention of the First Consul and his ministers. Beats

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For the Literary Magazine. SUMMARY OF POLITICS.

And every sob which shook her breast,
Thrill'd mine with bliss.
The sighs which keen affection clears,
How can it judge amiss?
To me it pictur'd hope; and taught
My spirit this consoling thought,
That love's sun, though it rise in tears,
May set in bliss!

are constructing in all the ports and rivers of the republic: and a mighty army is levying and equiping for the purpose of invading England. The English are busy in preparing for this invasion. A strong apprehension of danger seems to prevail, and the preparations for defence are more formidable, than has ever taken place since the time of the Spanish armada.

The minds of political enquirers are earnestly engaged in speculating on the possible events of the present state of things. The great force of the English at sea, and the extreme vigilance of their commanders: and the heavy encumbered, and defenceless state of the armaments of the invaders: the turbulence of the winds and waves, especially in autumn, are extremely unfavourable to the landing of

the French in England. The zeal, union, and numbers of the English: the universal preparation made for arming and transporting the people to the scene of action: the fortifications and signals on the coast most obnoxious to the attack, are circumstances much insisted on by those who predict the speedy destruction of the French army should its landing be effected.

On the other hand, there are some who insistupon the implacable hostility of the French, which will prompt them to acts of the greatest temerity: on that caprice of fortune which sometimes delights in crowning with success, undertakings which have nothing to distinguish them but their temerity: on the great number of points from which the invading armies will set out, and which, by dividing and distracting the adversary fleets, may insure a landing to some of them. These reasoners draw arguments in favour of the undertaking from the unexampled efforts which the British are making to defeat it, and the vigourous and sanguine efforts of the French, to carry it into execution.

There is probably no person in England or France, who sincerely believes in the ultimate success of the invasion; that is, who believes it possible for France to make a conquest of England. The great powers of Europe, are too nearly balanced to allow to any one of them the hope of conquering the other. The great object of their warfare is, not to subdue, but merely to annoy. How far this end will be accomplished by France, in compelling the English to such vast and expensive preparations of defence by sca and by land; on what side the balance of benefits will fall, at the conclusion of the year, should the French never leave their ports, or should they loose half a dozen battles and fifty thousand of their troops in England, is a difficult question.

The French, while engaged in these preparations, have not been idle in annoying the English on the

VOL. I....NO. 1.

continent of Europe. They have hitherto succeeded in persuading their neighbours, Austria, Russia, and Prussia, to preserve their neutrality. They have not succeeded in persuading any of them to join their party and the diplomatic warfare which is eagerly carrying on at Vienna, Petersburg, Berlin, and Madrid, between France and England, has produced nothing hitherto but an equipoise of favour and interest.

One of the first attempts of France, after the renewal of the war, was to send an army into Germany and to take possession of Hanover. This territory is large, rich, and populous; it is little inferior in extent and military force to Bavaria, Bohemia, or Saxony, and yet by some dreadful defect in its political system, a fine army, a thousand towns and villages, and a million of citizens, surrendered to the first summons of an inconsiderable detachment, with as much precipitation and facility as a petty and dilapidated fortress.

It requires a better acquaintance with the subject than we at this distance possess,to account for this surrender. What circumstances have so far weakened the attachment of the Hanoverians to their prince and to their independence, as to induce them to give such ready entrance to an enemy who, the experience of others might teach them, would not fail to treat their country as a conquered one, and as one of which the possession was to be precarious and brief, can only be explained by those who reside upon the spot.

The intelligence which the present month has brought us, relates chiefly to the preparations, which are made in France and England for attack and defence; to the journey of the first consul through the provinces of his empire; to the capitulation of Hanover, and to the insurrection in Ireland.

On the first head our intelligence does little more than confirm the accounts which had been previous◄

ly received. On the second head, the principal circumstance is, an address said to have been made by Buonaparte, on his setting out upon his journey, on the twentieth of


It is so very faithful a statement of the probable views of his government, that we are inclined to doubt its authenticity. It is too candid a display of his sentiments to have been safely made in the manner mentioned. It is, however, valuable as an historical picture of the present state of France, and the sentiments of its ruler....He delivers himself in the following terms:

"Before I commence one of the most important journies ever undertaken by the Chief of an Empire, I think it necessary to inform my Council of State, that I am perfectly satisfied with their zeal and fidelity.

"A great enterprize occupies iny mind, great meliorations demand my attention. Without detailing to you, at this moment, a vast project, in which I shall require the assistance of your knowledge and your efforts, I shall describe to you the different subjects on which I am desirous the Council should deliberate without delay.

"We cannot deny, that our internal administration has not that unity and activity which distinguish our external relations.....We are powerful and respected abroad, and at home we are timidly irresolute ....obliged to consult public opinion, without possessing the means of controuling or directing it.

"Why our progress is thus embarrassed I have not yet discovered. Perhaps, enterprizes, which require boldness, have been conducted with too much circumspection....perhaps too much importance has been given to public opinion in circumstances in which it ought to have been opposed or disregarded, I know not but it appears to me to be necessary instantly to break all the habits which great bodies of the people have contracted by the revolution.... Thus conducted to obedience by

firm measures, they will feel less interest in the changes which the return of order requires, and we shall at the same time be more at liberty to attempt these changes.

"The French are in general, of an unquiet and discontented disposition. That levity with which they were reproached, and which some skilful Ministers have turned to their advantage, in establishing absolute authority, no longer exists. It is replaced by suspicion and restlessness. I have received many reports on the manner in which the people view our administration, on what they hope,and on what they require. I have almost always observed a discontent without any pretext, or by which those which existed were exaggerated. We have not yet advanced far enough from the chaos to which we succeeded, and the pretensions which contributed not a little to produce it are but too well recollected. Indeed when I see the injustice with which our meliorations are received, and the liberty which is taken with our conduct, I am compelled to ask myself, whether we have not been too gentle, too conciliating and whether it is possible for this nation to accommodate itself to a temperate authority?

"I am pretty well satisfied with the rich proprietors. They have that respect for the government, which we are entitled to require of them. But, perhaps, they have not displayed sufficient confidence, perhaps they have shewn little anxiety to involve themselves in its destiny, and finally, they, perhaps, made too few sacrifices for supporting it in its embarrassment: but this is not the moment for investigating all these subjects of dissatisfaction. It is, however, necessary to discover the cause of this uncertainty and coldness in the public opinion, and to remedy it promptly by strong measures and vigorous institutions.

"I know, that in general, the new government is reproached for its expenses. If, however, the

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