When shall I see him who hath given thee life, How will he revel in thy first caress, Disputing with thee for my gentle kiss! But think not to engross his tenderness, Clotilda too shall have her share of bliss. How will he joy tɔ see his image there, His noble forehead, and his graceful air, For me I am not jealous of his love, And gladly I divide it, sweet, with thee; Thou shalt, like him, a faithful husband prove, But not, like him, give this anxiety. I speak to thee-thou understand❜st me not- We have been happy infants, as thou art; Ere long its very memory will be gone!" LAST VERSES OF THE DUC DE NIVERNOIS. THIS venerable Peer, the negociator of the peace of 1763, died at St. Ouen, near Paris, in June, 1797, at the age of eighty-two. His poetical talents, and his friendship for Barthelemi, the author of "Anacharsis,” are well known. A few hours before his death, it was recommended to have a consultation of physicians; but he declined the proposal, by addressing the following note to his friend and physician, Lacaille, who regularly attended him : "Ne consultons point d'avocats; Je n'en ai point d'autres en ma cure Qui font bonne guerre au trépas. Mais peut-être dame Nature A dejà décidé mon cas; Moi du moins sans changer d'allure Je veux mourir entre vos bras." TRANSLATION. Now advocates shall plead in vain, Hippocrates his aid denies; None other counsel I'll retain, Than Nature's power, sweet Friendship's ties, Or Death will hear them and obey: Let Friendship lead me to the tomb." LOVE SONGS. of A LITERAL translation of the love songs the various races of mankind, from the mere savage to the enlightened European, would' afford a curious display of similar sentiments, diversified with local costume. Not a few which have been applauded by elegant circles in both London and Paris, but are much inferior to the following effusion of a Finland peasant girl, which was given to Colonel Skioldebrand, as a literary curiosity, by one of the most esteemed poets of Sweden: "Oh! if my beloved would come, If my well-known would appear; Though they were tinged with the blood of the wolf, How I would lock his hands in mine, Though a serpent were intervowen with them. Why has not the breath of the wind a voice? Why has it not a tongue To bear my thoughts to my love, And bring the looks to me; To exchange the discourse of two fond hearts? I would refuse the feasts of the Curate, I would reject the dress of his daughter, He whom I have tried to enslave in the summer, DEATH OF ALFIERI. WHEN Alfieri was near his end, he was persuaded to see a priest. When the priest came, he said to him with an uncommon affability, "Have the kindness to look in to-morrow; I trust that Death will wait for four-and-twenty hours." The sacred monitor again appeared next day. Upon his entrance, Alfieri was sitting in his arm-chair, and said, "At present. I fancy I have but few minutes to spare." He begged that the Countess of Albany, widow of Charles Edward Stuart, the Pretender, and who was, as the inscription on his tomb records, "his only love," might be brought in; and at the instant he saw her, he exclaimed, "Clasp my hand, my dear friend, I die." "PARADISE LOST." THIS poem, when ready for the press, was nearly being suppressed through the ignorance or malice of the Licenser, who saw or fancied treason in the following noble simile: "As when the sun new risen Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams: or from behind the moon, This obstacle overcome, Milton sold the соруright for five pounds, ready-money; to be paid the same sum when one thousand three hundred of the books should have been disposed of, and five more pounds when a second and third edition were published. By this agreement, Milton received but fifteen pounds; and afterwards, his widow gave up every claim for eight pounds. VOLTAIRE AND SHAKSPEARE. AN Englishman once complained to Voltaire, that few foreigners relished the beauties of |