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cause;

Say, can the man whom Justice doom'd to shame, Array’d in such gear, the laws we'll explain, With front erect, his country's honours claim? That poor people no more shall have cause to comCan he with cheek unblushing join the crowd,

plain. Claim equal rights, and have his claim allow'd?

To Congress and impost we'll plead a release ; What though he mourn, a penitent sincere ;

The French we can beat half-a-dozen a piece ; Though every dawn be usher'd with a tear;

We want not their guineas, their arms, or alliance; The world, more prone to censure than forgive,

And as for the Dutchmen, we bid them detiance. Quick to suspect, and tardy to believe,

Then huzza, my Jo Bunkers ! no taxes we'll pay; Will still the hapless penitent despise,

Here's a pardon for WHELLER, SHAYS, Parsons, And watch his conduct with invidious eyes:

and Day; But the chief end of justice once achieved,

Put green boughs in your hats, and renew the old The public weal secured, a soul reprieved, 'T were wise in laws, 't were generous to provide

Stop the courts in each county, and bully the laws.
Some place where blushing penitence might hide;
Yes, 't were humane, 't were godlike to protect
Returning virtue from the world's neglect
And taunting scorn, which pierce with keener pains REFLECTIONS ON SEEING A BULL
The feeling mind, than dungeons, racks, and chains:

SLAIN IN THE COUNTRY.
Enlarge their bounds; admit a purer air;
Dismiss the servile badge and scanty fare;

The sottish clown who never knew a charm
The stint of labour lessen or suspend,

Beyond the powers of his nervous arm, Admit at times the sympathizing friend.

Proud of his might, with self-importance full, Repentance courts the shade ; alone she roves Or climbs the spire, or fights the maddening bull; By ruin'd towers and night-embrowning groves; The love of praise, impatient of control, Or midst dark vaults, by Melancholy led,

O'erflows the scanty limits of his soul; She holds ideal converse with the dead:

In uncouth jargon, turbulently loud, Lost to the world and each profaner joy,

He bawls his triumphs to the wondering crowd : Her solace tears, and prayer her best employ. “This well-strung arm dispensed the deadly blow,

Fell’d the proud bull and sunk his glories low:”

Not thoughts more towering fill'd Pelines' breast, A RADICAL SONG OF 1786.

When thus to Greece his haughty raunts express'd:

" I sack'd twelve ample cities on the main, Huzza, my Jo Bunkers! no taxes we'll pay;

And six lay smoking on the Trojan plain;" Here's a pardon for WHEELER, SHAYS, PARSONS,

Thus full and fervid throbb’d the pulse of pride, and Day;*

When “ Veni, vidi, vici," Cæsar cried. Put green boughs in your hats, and renew the old

Each vain alike, and differing but in names; cause;

These poets flatter—those the mob acclaims; Stop the courts in each county, and bully the laws:

Impartial Death soon stops the proud career, Constitutions and oaths, sir, we mind not a rush;

And bids LEGENDRE rot with DC MOTRIER. Such trifies must yield to us lads of the bush.

The God whose sovereign care o'er all extends, New laws and new charters our books shall display,

Sees whence their madness springs, and where it Composed by conventions and Counsellor Grey.

ends;

From his blest height, with just contempt, looks Since Boston and Salem so haughty have grown,

down We'll make them to know we can let them alone.

On thundering heroes and the swaggering clown: Of Glasgow or Pelham we'll make a seaport, But if our erring reason may presume And there we'll assemble our General Court:

The future to divine, more mild his doom Our governor, now, boys, shall turn out to work,

Whose pride was wreck’d on vanquish'd brutes, And live, like ourselves, on molasses and pork ;

alone, In Adams or Greenwich he'll live like a peer Than his whose conquests made whole nations On three hundred pounds, paper money, a year.

groan. Grand jurors, and sheriffs, and lawyers we'll spurn,

Can Ganges' sacred wave, or Lethe's flood, As judges, we'll all take the bench in our turn,

Wash clear the garments smear'd with civic blood ? And sit the whole term, without pension or fee,

What hand from heaven's dread register shall tear Nor Cushing or Sewal look graver than we.

The page where, stamp'd in blood, the conqueror's Our wigs, though they're rusty, are decent enough;

crimes appear? Our aprons, though black, are of durable stuff;

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IMPROMPTU ON AN ORDER TO KILL

THE DOGS IN ALBANY.

Names of the leaders of the insurrection that arose, in 1786, in the state of Massachusetts, chiefly in the coun. ties of llampshire, Berkshire, and Worcester; which, after convulsing the state for about a year, was finally quelled by a military force under the command of General LINCOLN and General SHEPHERD. The leaders fled from the state, and were afterwards pardoned. See Minor's History of the Insurrection in Massachusetts.

'Tis done! the dreadful sentence is decreed !
The town is mad, and all the dogs must bleed !
Ah me! what boots it that the dogs are slain,
Since the whole race of puppies yet remain!

WILLIAM CLIFFTON.

Born 1772. Died 1799.)

a

THE father of WILLIAM CLIFFTON was the fashionable and the learned. He died in wealthy member of the society of Friends, in December, 1799, in the twenty-seventh year of

Philadelphia. The poet, from his childhood, had his age. 1 little physical strength, and was generally a suf The poetry of Cliffron has more energy of

ferer from disease; but his mind was vigorous thought and diction, and is generally more corand carefully educated, and had he lived to a rect and harmonious, than any which had been mature age, he would probably have won an en previously written in this country. Much of it during reputation as an author. His life was is satirical, and relates to persons and events of

marked by few incidents. He made himself ac the period in which he lived; and the small ' quainted with the classical studies pursued in the volume of his writings published after his death

universities, and with music, painting, and such doubtless contains some pieces which would have field-sports as he supposed he could indulge in been excluded froia an edition prepared by himwith most advantage to his health. He was self, for this reason, and because they were unconsidered an amiable and accomplished gen finished and not originally intended to meet the tleman, and his society was courted alike by eye of the world.

1

The tardy transcript's nigh-wrought page confined TO WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.*

To one pursuit the undivided mind.

No venal critic fatten’d on the trade; In these cold shades, beneath these shifting skies, Books for delight, and not for sale were made; Where Fancy sickens, and where Genius dies; Then shone, superior, in the realms of thought, Where few and feeble are the muse's strains, The chief who govern'd, and the sage who taught: And no fine frenzy riots in the veins,

The drama then with deathless bays was wreath'd, There still are found a few to whom belong The statue quicken'd, and the canvass breathed. The fire of virtue and the soul of song;

The poet, then, with unresisted art, Whose kindling ardour still can wake the strings, Sway'd every impulse of the captive heart. When learning triumphs, and when GIFFORD sings. Touch'd with a beam of Heaven's creative mind, To thee the lowliest bard his tribute pays,

His spirit kindled, and his taste refined: His little wild-flower to thy wreath conveys; Incessant toil inform’d his rising youth; Pleased, if permitted round thy name to bloom, Thought grew to thought, and truth attracted truth, To boast one effort rescued from the tomb. Till, all complete, his perfect soul display'd

While this delirious age enchanted seems Some bloom of genius which could never fade. With hectic Fancy's desultory dreams;

So the sage oak, to Nature's mandate true, While wearing fast away is every trace

Advanced but slow, and strengthen'd as it grew! Of Grecian vigour, and of Roman grace,

But when, at length, (full many a season o'er,) With fond delight, we yet one bard behold, Its virile head, in pride, aloft it bore; As Horace polish'd, and as Perseus bold,

When steadfast were its roots, and sound its heart, Reclaim the art, assert the muse divine,

It bade defiance to the insect's art,
And drive obtrusive dulness from the shrine. And, storm and time resisting, still remains
Since that great day which saw the Tablet rise, The never-dying glory of the plains.
A thinking block, and whisper to the eyes,

Then, if some thoughtless Bavius dared appear,
No time has been that touch'd the muse so near, Short was his date, and limited his sphere;
No Age when Learning had so much to fear, He could but please the changeling mob a day,
As now, when love-lorn ladies light verse frame, Then, like his noxious labours, pass away:
And every rebus-weaver talks of Fame.

So, near a forest tall, some worthless flower When Truth in classic majesty appear’d, Enjoys the triumph of its gaudy hour, And Greece, on bigh, the dome of science rear'd, Scatters its little poison through the skies, Patience and perseverance, care and pain Then droops its empty, hated head, and dies. Alone the steep, the rough ascent could gain : Still, as from famed Ilyssus' classic shore, None but the great the sun-clad summit found; To Mincius' banks, the muse her laurel bore, The weak were baffled, and the strong were crown'd. The sacred plant to hands divine was given,

And deathless Maro nursed the boon of Heaven. Prefixed to WILLIAM COBBETT's edition of the "Ba.

Exalted bard! to hear thy gentler voice, riad and Maviad," published in Philadelphia, in 1799. The valleys listen, and their swains rejoice;

1

No love to foster, no dear friend to wrong,
Wild as the mountain flood, they drive along:
And sweep, remorseless, every social bloom
To the dark level of an endless tomb.

By arms assail'd we still can arms oppose,
And rescue learning from her brutal foes;
But when those foes to friendship make pretence,
And tempt the judgment with the baits of sense,
Carouse with passion, laugh at Gon's control,
And sack the little empire of the soul,
What warning voice can save? Alas! 't is o'er,
The age of virtue will return no more;
The doaring world, its manly vigour flown,
Wanders in mind, and dreams on folly's throne.
Come then, sweet bard, again the cause defend,
Be still the muses' and religion's friend;
Again the banner of thy wrath display,
And save the world from Darwin's tinsel lay.
A soul like thine no listless pause should know;
Truth bids thee strike, and virtue guides the blow
From every conquest still more dreadful come,
Till dulness fly, and folly's self be dumb.

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But when, on some wild mountain's awful form,
We hear thy spirit chanting to the storm,
Of battling chiefs, and armies laid in gore,
We rage, we sigh, we wonder, and adore.
Thus Rome with Greece in rival splendour shone,
But claim'd immortal satire for her own;
While Horace pierced, full oft, the wanton breast
With sportive censure, and resistless jest;
And that Etrurian, whose indignant lay
Thy kindred genius can so well display,
With many a well-aim'd thought, and pointed line,
Drove the bold villain from his black design.
For, as those mighty masters of the lyre,
With temper'd dignity, or quenchless ire,
Through all the various paths of science trod,
Their school was NATURE and their teacher God.
Nor did the muse decline till, o'er her head,
The savage tempest of the north was spread;
Till arm’d with desolation's bolt it came,
And wrapp'd her temple in funereal flame.

But soon the arts once more a dawn diffuse,
And Dante hail'd it with his morning muse;
Petrarch and Boccace join'd the choral lay,
And Arno glisten’d with returning day.
Thus science rose; and, all her troubles pass’d,
She hoped a steady, tranquil reign at last;
But Faustus came: (indulge the painful thought,)
Were not his countless volumes dearly bought?
For, while to every clime and class they flew,
Their worth diminish'd as their numbers grew.
Some pressman, rich in Homer's glowing page,
Could give ten epics to one wondering age;
A single thought supplied the great design,
And clouds of Iliads spread from every line.
Nor Homen's glowing page, nor Virgil's fire
Could one lone breast with equal flame inspire,
But, lost in books, irregular and wild,
The poet wonder'd, and the critic smiled :
The friendly smile, a bulkier work repays;
For fools will print, while greater fools will praise.

Touch'd with the mania, now, what millions rage To shine the laureat blockheads of the age. The dire contagion creeps through every grade; Girls, coxcombs, peers, and patriots drive the trade: And e'en the hind, his fruitful fields forgot, For rhyme and misery leaves his wife and cot. Ere to his breast the wasteful mischief spread, Content and plenty cheer'd his little shed; And, while no thoughts of state perplex'd his mind, His harvests ripening, and Pastora kind, He laugh’d at toil, with health and vigour bless'd, For days of labour brought their nights of rest: But now in rags, ambitious for a name, The fool of faction, and the dupe of fame, Ilis conscience haunts him with his guilty life, Jlis starving children, and his ruin'd wife. Thus swarming wits, of all materials made, Their Gothic hands on social quiet laid, And, as they rave, unmindful of the storm, Call lust, refinement; anarchy, reform.

The morn was fresh, and pure the gale,

When MARY, from her cot a rover, Pluck'd many a wild rose of the vale

To bind the temples of her lover. As near his little farm she stray'd,

Where birds of love were ever pairing, She saw her William in the shade,

The arms of ruthless war preparing. “Though now," he cried, “I seek the hostile plain, Mary shall smile, and all be fair again.”

She scized his hand, and “Ah!” she cried,

“Wilt thou, to camps and war a stranger, Desert thy Mary's faithful side,

And bare thy life to every danger? Yet, go, brave youth! to arms away!

My maiden hands for fight shall dress thee, And when the drum beats far away,

I'll drop a silent tear, and bless thee. Return'd with honour, from the hostile plain, Mary will smile, and all be fair again.

• The bugles through the forest wind,

The woodland soldiers call to battle: Be some protecting angel kind,

And guard thy life when cannons rattle!" She sung-and as the rose appears

In sunshine, when the storm is over, A smile beam'd sweetly through her tears

The blush of promise to her lover. Return'd in triumph from the hostile plain, All shall be fair, and Mary smile again.

ROBERT TREAT PAINE.

(Born, 1773. Died, 1811.)

Tais writer was once ranked by our American kind of pride which arises from a consciousness of critics among the great masters of English verse ; integrity and worth. When, therefore, he found and it was believed that his reputation would en himself unpopular with the town, he no longer endure as long as the language in which he wrote. deavoured to deserve regard, but neglected his perThe absurd estimate of his abilities shows the sonal appearance, became intemperate, and abanwretched condition of taste in his time, and per doned himself to indolence. The office of « mashaps caused some of the faults in his later works. ter of ceremonies" in the theatre, an anomalous

Robert Treat Paine, junior,* was born at station, created for his benefit, still yielded him a Taunton, Massachusetts, on the ninth of Decem moderate income, and, notwithstanding the irregber, 1773. His father, an eminent lawyer, held ularity of his habits, he never exerted his poetical many honourable offices under the state and na abilities without success. For his poems and other tional governments, and was one of the signers of productions he obtained prices unparalleled in this the Declaration of Independence. The family har country, and rarely equalled by the rewards of the ing removed to Boston, when he was about seven most popular European authors. For the “InTears old, the poet received his early education in vention of Letters," written at the request of the that city, and entered Harvard University in 1788. President of Harvard University, he received fifHis career here was brilliant and honourable; no teen hundred dollars, or more than five dollars a member of his class was so familiar with the an line. “ The Ruling Passion," a poem recited becient languages, or with elegant English literature; fore the Phi Beta Kappa Society, was little less and his biographer assures us that he was person profitable; and he was paid seven hundred and ally popular among his classmates and the offi fifty dollars for a song of half a dozen stanzas, encers of the university. When he was graduated, titled “ Adams and Liberty.” "he was as much distinguished for the opening His habits, in the sunshine, gradually improved, virtues of his heart, as for the vivacity of his wit, and his friends who adhered to him endeavoured the vigour of his imagination, and the variety of to wean him from dissipation, and to persuade him his knowledge. A liberality of sentiment and a to study the law, and establish himself in an honcontempt of selfishness are usual concomitants, and ourable position in society. They were for a time in him were striking characteristics. Urbanity of successful; he entered the office of the Honourable manners and a delicacy of feeling imparted a charm Theophilus Parsons, of Newburyport; applied to his benignant temper and social disposition.” himself diligently to his studies; was admitted to

While in college he had won many praises by the bar, and became a popular advocate. No lawbis poetical “ exercises,” and on the completion of yer ever commenced business with more brilliant his education he was anxious to devote himself to prospects; but his indolence and recklessness reliterature as a profession. His father, a man of turned; his business was neglected ; his reputa singular austerity, had marked out for him a dif tion decayed; and, broken down and disheartened ferent career, and obtained for hiin a clerkship in by poverty, disease, and the neglect of his old asa mercantile house in Boston. But he was in no sociates, the evening of his life presented a melanway fitted for the pursuits of business; and after choly contrast to its morning, when every sign a few months he abandoned the counting-room, gave promise of a bright career. In his last years, to rely upon his pen for the means of living. In says his biographer, “ without a library, wandering 1794 he established the “ Federal Orrery," a po frum place to place, frequently uncertain whence litical and literary gazette, and conducted it two or whether he could procure a meal, his thirst for years, but without industry or discretion, and there knowledge astonishingly increased ; neither sickfore without profit. Soon after leaving the uni ness nor penury abated his love of books and inversity, he had become a constant visiter of the structive conversation." He died in “an attic theatre, then recently established in Boston. His chamber of his father's house," on the eleventh of intimacy with persons connected with the stage November, 1811, in the thirty-eighth year of his led to his marriage with an actress; and this to age. his exclusion from fashionable society, and a dis Dr. Johnson said of DRYDEN, of whom Paine agreement with his father, which lasted until his was a servile but unsuccessful imitator, that “his

delight was in wild and daring sallies of sentiment, He was destitute of true courage, and of that in the irregular and eccentric violence of wit;" that

he “delighted to tread upon the brink of meaning, " He was originally called THOMAS PAINE; but on the where light and darkness begin to mingle; to apdeath of an elder brother, in 1801, his name was changed by an act of the Massachusetts legislature to that of his

proach the precipice of absurdity, and hover over the abyss of unideal vacancy."

The censure is

death.

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more applicable to the copy than the original. ditional stanza. The poet mused a moment, called There was no freshness in Paine's writings; his for a pen, and wrote the following lines, which are, subjects, his characters, his thoughts, were all com perhaps, the best in the song: monplace and familiar. His mind was fashioned

Should the tempest of war overshadow our land, by books, and not by converse with the world. He Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder; had a brilliant fancy, and a singular command of For, unmoved, at its portal would Washington stand,

And repulse with his breast the assaults of the thunder! language; but he was never content to be simple

His sword from the sleep and natural. He endeavoured to be magnificent

Of its scabbard would leap. and striking; he was perpetually searching for con

And conduct, with its point, every flash to the deep!

For ne'er shall the sons, &c. ceits and extravagances; and in the multiplicity of his illustrations and ornaments, he was unintelli He had agreed to write the “ opening address," gible and tawdry. From no other writer could so on the rebuilding of the Boston Theatre, in 1798. many instances of the false sublime be selected. HODGKINSON, the manager, called on him in the He never spoke to the heart in its own language. evening, before it was to be delivered, and upbraid

Paine wrote with remarkable facility. It is ed him for his negligence; the first line of it being related of him by his biographers, that he had yet unwritten. “ Pray, do not be angry," said finished « Adams and Liberty," and exhibited it to Paine, who was dining with some literary friends; some gentlemen at the house of a friend. His host “ sit down and take a glass of wine.”—“ No, sir," pronounced it imperfect, as the name of WASHING replied the manager; "when you begin to write, Ton was omitted, and declared that he should not I will begin to drink.” Paine took his pen, at a approach the sideboard, on which bottles of wine side-table, and in two or three hours finished the had just been placed, until he had written an ad address, which is one of the best he ever wrote.

ADAMS AND LIBERTY.

Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution.

But though peace is our aim, Yo sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought

Yet the boon we disclaim, For those rights, which unstain'd from your sires

If bought by our sovereignty, justice, or fame. had descended,

For ne'er shall the sons, &c. May you long taste the blessings your valour has 'Tis the fire of the flint each American warms: bought,

Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision; And your sons reap the soil which their fathers Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms; defended.

We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a diMid the reign of mild Peace

vision. May your nation increase,

While, with patriot pride,
With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece; To our laws we're allied,

And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, No foe can subdue us, no faction divide.
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls

For ne'er shall the sons, &c.
its waves.

Our mountains are crowned with imperial oak, In a clime whose rich vales feed the marts of the Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourworld,

ish'd; Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's com But long e'er our nation submits to the yoke, motion,

Not a tree shall be left on the field where it The trident of commerce should never be hurl'd,

flourished.
To incense the legitimate powers of the ocean. Should invasion impend,
But should pirates invade,

Every grove would descend
Though in thunder array'd,

From the hilltops they shaded our shores to defend.
Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade. For ne'er shall the sons, &c.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm, The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway, Lest our liberty's growth should be checked by Had justly ennobled our nation in story,

corrosion ; 'Till the dark clouds of faction obscured our young Then let clouds thicken round us; we heed not

the storm ; And envelop'd the sun of American glory. Our realm fears no shock, but the earth's own But let traitors be told,

explosion. Who their country have sold,

Foes assail us in vain,
And barter'd their God for his image in gold,

Though their fleets bridge the main,
That ne'er will the sons, &c.

For our altars and laws with our lives we'll mainWhile France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in

tain. blood,

For ne'er shall the sons, &c. And society's base threats with wide dissolution, Should the tempest of war overshadow our land, May Peace, like the dove who return'd from the Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's templo flood,

asunder;

day,

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