He threw his blood stain'd sword in thunder down, The war, denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo; And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though, sometimes each dreary pause between, Her soul subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild, nalter'd mein, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, Sad proof of thy distressful state, Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd, Pale Melancholy sat retired, And from her wild, sequester'd seat, In notes more distant made more sweet, Pou'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul; And dashing soft from rocks around. Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole. Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O, how Iter'd was its sprightlier tone; When cheerfulnes, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her buskins gem'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung The hunter's call to fawn and dryad known; The oak-crown'd sisters and their chaste-ey'd queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping forth from alleys green; And sport leapt up, and seiz'd the beachen spear. He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd, But soon he saw the brisk awaking viol, Whose sweet advancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have who heard the strain They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids. To some unwearied minstrel dancing, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. On Cruelty to Animals.-a Tale.-BY COWPER. Where England stretch'd towards the setting sun, Dwelt young Misagathus. A scorner he, O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base At sight of the man-monster. With a smile, To steel their hearts against the dread of death. Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge, Enrag'd the more, by what might have reform'd Spar'd yet again th' ignobler for his sake. His rage grew cool; and pleas'd, perhaps, t' have earn'd So cheaply, the renown of that attempt, With looks, of some complacence, he resum'd An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. Was now to learn, that heaven, though slow to wrath, His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, Address to Messiah.BY COWPER. Come then, and added to thy many crowns, Recieve yet one, the crown of all the earth. Thou who alone art worthy! it was thine Thy saints proclaim thee King; and in their hearts, Dipt in the fountain of eternal love. Thy saints proclaim thee King; and thy delay Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see Of its own taunting question ask'd so long, Till his exhausted quiver yielding none, He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd, They now are deem'd the faithful, and are prais'd, Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal, And quit their office for their error's sake. Blind, and in love with darkness! yet even these, To wand'ring sheep, resolv'd to follow none. With conscience, and with thee. Lust in their hearts, prey upon each other; stubborn, fierce, High minded, foaming out their own disgrace. Come then, and added to thy many crowns, On the Power and Influence of an Individual. BY PRESIDENT NOTT. Thus the impulse given either to virtue or to vice, by a single individual, may be immeasurably extended, even to distant nations, and communicated through succeeding ages to the remotest generations. Voltaire, Rosseau, and their infidel coadjutors, collected their materials and laid a train which produced that fatai explosion, which shook the civi, ` lized world to its centre. Governments were dismembered; monarchies were overthrown; institutions were swept away; society was flung into confusion; human life was endangered. Years have elapsed, the face of Europe is yet covered with wrecks and desolations! and how long before the world will recover from the disastrous shock their conspiracy occasioned, God only knows. And yet Voltaire, Rosseau and their infidel coadjutors were individuals. Did not Cyrus sway the opinions, awe the fears, and direct the energies of the world at Babylon? Did not Cæsar do this at Rome, and Constantine at Byzantium? and yet Cyrus, Cæsar and Constantine, were individuals-But they were fortunate; they lived at critical conjunctures, and in fields of blood gathered immortally. And is it at critical conjunctures and in fields of blood only, that immortally can be gathered? Where then is Howard, that saint of illustrious memory, who traversed his native country, exploring the jail and the prison-ship and taking the dimensions of that misery which these caverns of vice, of disease and of death had so long concealed-Whose heroic deeds of charity, the dungeons alike of Europe and of Asia witnessed, and whose bones now consecrate the confines of distant Tartary, where he fell a martyr to his zeal, when like an angel of peace, he was engaged in conveying through the cold, damp, pestilential cells of Russian Crimea, the lamp of hope and the cup of consolation to the incarcerated slave, who languished unknown, unpitied, and forgotten there. Where is Grenville Sharp, the negro's advocate, whose disinterested efforts, whose seraphic eloquence, extorted from a court tinctured with the remains of feudal tyranny, that memorable decision of lord Mansfield, which placed an eternal shield between the oppressor, and the oppressed; which raised a legal barrier around the very person of the enslaved African, and rendered liberty thereafter, inseparable from the soil of the seagirt isles of Britain. It was this splendid triumph of reason over passion, of justice over prejudice, that called from the Irish orator, that burst of ingenuous feeling, at the trial of Rowan, when he said-" I speak in the spirit of the British law, which proclaims even to the stranger and the sojourner, the moment he sets his foot on British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy. No matter in what language, his doom may have been pronounced;-No matter what complexion incompatible with freedom; an Indian, or an African sun may have burnt upon him;-No matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down; -No matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery; the first moment he touches the sacred son of Britain, the altar, and the God sink together in the dust; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, emancipated, dis-enthralled, by irresistable genius of universal emancipation." Where is Clarkson, who has been so triumphantly successful in wiping away the reproach of slavery from one quarter of the globe, and in restor |