MOTIVES FOR PREACHING. Some preach from love to God and Man- Without of honesty a grain, Preach hard for-loaves and fishes! JERRY MANSEL. LINĖS Written while passing through a beautiful, picturesque valley near the foot of Roundaway Hill in Wiltshire. HERE, in this sweet, sequestered vale, A calm a scene-a solitude- Yon clump of trees would screen his cot While the green mount that towers above Through vistas opening on the hill; The foliage, figure, form, and flower The ruddy mansion of the squire: November the 14th, 1818. MY FAVOURITE FLOWER With all the pageantry of phrase While some the rose and tulip praise, But oh! the flower of my choice Like some great doctor's powdered wig, C. FEIST. My gums to press thy charms are moved, The garden's pride, the garden's boast! Of culinary glory, Long mayest thou grace the boiled and roast, Oh, in seasons dry and hot, Ne'er mayest thou want a shower; Nor I, thy bard, to fill my pot, A thumping Cauliflower! JERRY MANSEL. IMITATION OF AN OLD BALLAD. The furious winds of grief and care. Their idle visions soon destroys. Oh, may I steer my little bark With more of skill, of rashness less, Nor e'er lose sight of that landmark, Heaven---which can succour in distress. Be thou my pilot, thou my guide, Oh God, amidst this stormy scene; Grant me in that blest port to ride, Where storms no more shall intervene. THE MUTABILITY OF BLISS. And oft, beneath the lowly roof, Oft, too, the pensive village maid, Who should have blessed the peasant's arms, But Poverty's worst ill is this,--- Drives from his home the hapless swain, Who keeps Religion's holy way. My gentle Ellen, And wilt thou, like the world forsake me, Sweet maid, upon thy blushing cheek, My fair, my gentle Ellen. The tear of pity, like the dew, My gentle Ellen, Raises the drooping flower anew, Then let the world censorious be, Arliss, Printer, London. W, Classical and Polite Literature. CAMIRA: AN AMERICAN TALE, FROM THE FRENCH OF THE CHEVALIER DE FLORIAN. CONVERSING one day with a Spaniard, who had recently arrived from Buenos Ayres, I reproached him with the cruelties which were committed by his countrymen, at the period of their first conquests in America; I, shuddering, reminded him of the crimes which sullied the glory of Cortez, of Pizarro, and of several other heroes who, in many respects, surpassed, perhaps, every thing which we admire among the ancients; and I lamented that so fine, so glorious an epoch of the history of Spain, should be written in its annals on pages stained with blood. The Spaniard listened to me with patient politeness. Some tears came into his eyes when I pronounced the name of Las Casas. "He was, " said he, "our Fenelon. He was not the author of a Telemachus, but he journeyed over the two Americas to save some Indians, and he traversed the ocean to defend their cause before the council of Charles V. as your Archbishop of Cambray defended that of the Protestants, whom you also massacred in your mountains of the Cevennes. At the close of the reign of Lewis XIV. you were still persecutors. And what were we? what was Europe, in that sixteenth century, which is rendered for ever VOL. III. No. 15. M |