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What makes a province rich ?—'tis industry—

National And 'tis to this fair child of sober sense


That, Berg, thy duchy owes prosperity,

And fruitful fields, and honest opulence :
Thy wealth in mines and minerals, too, 's immense !
Each bargelet laden with some precious ore,

To nourish arts, or forge for man's defence :
Thus Prussia1 girt, through fate she must deplore,
By wider empires, claims our praise the more.


Our unbought praise of her judicious sway,
Depicted in her thriving, cheerful race;
No! there's no lack of sturdy youths, and say,
Where damsels may be found of fairer face?-

1 By the Congress of Vienna in 1815, it was settled, that Dusseldorf, one of the cercles of the province of Cleves and Berg, should, with the other provinces of the Duchy of the Lower Rhine, belong to Prussia, now governed by Frederick William III.

I must not, Elberfeld',-it were disgrace, To let thy far-fam'd valley pass unsung;

Thy countless looms, thy taffetas, thy lace.—

Thy praises have in abler peals been rung:

I love just praise

-since ne'er by envy stung.


Why oft should prouder powers and wealthier shores
Make harsh monopoly of Nature's gifts?

Her treasures, bounties, and still-teeming stores,

Were meant for all.-Away with artful shifts;
Nay, what are sometimes worse, manœuvres, drifts.-

Oh! my lov'd India !-may that mighty state
Which rules thy destinies, nor ever lifts

Her arm to plunder or lay desolate;

But which, mistaking, may relieve too late.


Liberal com


1 I find the following account of the town of Elberfeld in Mioville's Geographie Europiénne, page 362:-" Elberfeld est dans une contrée sauvage, et cependant de jolies maisons, a demi cachées sous des touffes d'arbres, y deviennent l'azyle de l'economie, de l'ordre, et du travail. Son industrie se prete à toutes les mobilités de la mode. Elle s'exerce indistinctement sur la soye, la laine, le fil, et le coton. Elle imite jusqu'aux bizarres dessins des Indes."


A prayer for May that great empire, from her judgment-seat,


View an ingenious, gentle progeny,

With eyes of mercy!-lowly at her feet

They lay their labours, with which none can vie;
Let such be India's vantage, while we buy
Her beauteous workmanship.—Nor ever send
Those blustering myriads to her orient sky:
Be ours to succour, to protect, to mend.-
From selfish policy may Heaven defend !


So be it told, as after ages roll,

And Coromandel rivals our rich fields;
When there can not be found from pole to pole
A land which lovelier smiles, or better yields:

So be it told," "Twas England, who best wields

Old Neptune's trident, made this people know,

And feel those blessings Justice showers and shields."

Who was it said-Go teach all nations ?-Lo!

It was a SAVIOUR spoke!

Then be it so.—


To preach were vain, nor would well suit the song
Of him whose sole pretence is but to prate;
Yet has he seen too much-has liv'd too long-
To misconceive what renovates a state;
And so would here, mayhap 'tis out of date,
Urge this trite maxim,—make the people wise;
Content with comforts, they'd not emulate
The sloth of luxury, but virtue prize,
And 'gainst all gilded follies shut their eyes.

What renovates a State,


In court or cottage, who the soundest sleeps?
The honest husbandman who toils the day,
Or that o'erfed grandee, who lazy keeps,

His revels till the sun's returning ray?
What leads so oft to premature decay?
To ruin'd fortune?-ask that pallid cheek;

Or ask the bankrupt brother-he will say, 'Tis dissipation !—what can stronger speak, Than drooping loveliness ?—I would not seek,

The cheapest opiate.



Innocent mirth.

No: it would be, nor moral nor humane,

To tell the young, the modest, innocent,
That they must be austere, and aye refrain
From pastimes, which our God has wisely lent:
Ah! no, I am not on such message sent;

I would not rob thee, Alice, of one smile,

One joyous laugh, for millions! my intent,
Is how to guard thee from or woe, or wile,
And all those ills which spring from worldly guile.


A beautiful


But we must hence the pilot's whistle sounds,
No feeble warning to the straggling few,
Who still would linger in the witching rounds
Of Dusseldorf,-Oft vowing to review,

Her peaceful scenes, and who knows we may too.
La! what a blooming bevy,-Belles and Beaux;
And that fair Prussian Maiden,-Do, now do,
Confess how beautiful her eyes,- -her nose.

By all that's fortunate! See, in she goes.

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