On Britain ftill he caft a filial eye;
But fovereign fortitude his visage bore,
To meet their legions on th' invaded shore.
Sage Franklin next arofe, in awful mien,
And fmil'd, unruffled, o'er th' approaching scene;
High, on his locks of age, a wreath was brac'd,
Palm of all arts, that e'er a mortal grac❜d,
Beneath him lies the fceptre kings have borne,
And crowns and laurels from their temples torn.
Nath, Rutledge, Jefferfon, in council great,
And Jay and Laurens op'd the rolls of fate.
The Livingstons, fair Freedom's gen'rous band,
The Lees, the Houstons, fathers of the land,
O'er climes and kingdoms turn'd their ardent eyes,
Bade all th' opprefs'd to speedy vengeance rife;
All pow'rs of ftate, in their extended plan,
Rife from confent to fhield the rights of man.
Bold Wolcott urg'd the all-important cause;
With fteady hand the folemn fcene he draws;
Undaunted firmnefs with his wifdom join'd,
Nor kings nor worlds could warp his stedfast mind.
Now, graceful rifing from his purple throne,
In radiant robes, immortal Hofmer fhone;
Myrtles and bays his learned temples bound,
The ftatefman's wreath, the poet's garland crown'd :
Morals and laws expand his liberal foul,
Beam from his eyes, and in his accents roll.
But lo! an unseen hand the curtain drew,
And snatch'd the patriot from the hero's view;
Wrapp'd in the fhroud of death, he fees defcend
The guide of nations and the muse's friend.
Columbus dropp'd a tear. The angel's eye
Trac'd the freed fpirit mounting through the fky.
Adams, enrag'd, a broken charter bore,
And lawless acts of minifterial pow'r;
Some injur'd right in each loofe leaf appears,
A king in terrors and a land in tears;
From all the guileful plots the veil he drew,
With eye retortive look'd creation through;

Op'd the wide range of nature's boundless plan,
Trac'd all the fteps of liberty and man;

Crowds rose to vengeance while his accents rung,
And independence thunder'd from his tongue.

SPEECH OF BUONAPARTE, COMMANDER IN CHIEF OF THE FRENCH ARMY IN ITALY, TO HIS BRETHREN IN ARMS.

SOLDIERS,

YOU are precipitated like a torrent from the

You

and difperfed all that dared to oppofe your march. Piedmont, rescued from Auftrian tyranny, is left to its natural fentiments of regard and friendship to the French. Milan is yours; and the republican standard is difplayed throughout all Lombardy. The dukes of Parma and Modena are indebted for their political exiftence only to your generofity.

The army, which fo proudly menaced you, has had no other barrier than its diffolution to oppose your invincible courage. The Po, the Teffen, the Adda, could not retard you a fingle day. The vaunted bulwarks of Italy were infufficient. You fwept them with the fame rapidity that you did the Appenines. Thofe fucceffes have carried joy into the bofom of your country. Your reprefentatives decreed a feftival dedicated to your victories, and to be celebrated throughout all the com munes of the republic. Now your fathers, your mothers, your wives, and your fifters, will rejoice in your fuccefs, and take pride in their relation to you.

Yes, foldiers, you have done much; but more ftill remains for you to do. Shall it be faid of us, that we know how to conquer, but not to profit by our victories? Shall pofterity reproach us with having found a Capua in Lombardy? But already I fee you fly to arms. You are fatigued with an inactive repofe. You lament the days that are loft to your glory? Well,

then, let us proceed; we have other forced marches to make; other enemies to fubdue; more laurels to acquire, and more injuries to avenge.

Let thofe who have unfheathed the daggers of civil war in France; who have bafely affaffinated our minifters; who have burnt our fhips at Toulon; let them tremble! the knell of vengeance has already tolled!

But to quiet the apprehenfions of the people, we declare ourfelves the friends of all, and particularly of thofe who are the defcendants of Brutus, of Scipio; and those other great men whom we have taken for our models.

To re-eftablifh the capital; to replace the ftatues of thofe heroes who have rendered it immortal; to roufe the Roman people entranced in fo many ages of flavery; this fhall be the fruit of your victories. It will be an epoch for the admiration of pofterity; you will enjoy the immortal glory of changing the afpect of affairs in the fineft part of Europe. The free people of France, not regardlefs of moderation, fhall accord to Europe a glorious peace; but it will indemnify itfelf for the facrifices of every kind which it has been making for fix years paft. You will again be reftored to your fire-fides and homes; and your fellow-citizens, pointing you out, fhall fay, "There goes one who be longed to the army of Italy!

REFLECTIONS OVER THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG ΜΑΝ.

H

ERE lies the grief of a fond mother, and the blafted expectation of an indulgent father. The youth grew up, like a well-watered plant; he fhot deep, rose high, and bade fair for manhood. But juft as the cedar began to tower, and promifed ere long, to be the pride of the wood, and prince among the neighbouring trees, behold! the axe is laid unto the root;

the fatal blow ftruck; and all its branching honors tumbled to the duft. And did he fall alone? No: the hopes of his father that begat him, and the pleasing profpects of her that bare him, fell, and were crushed together with him.

Doubtless it would have pierced one's heart, to have beheld the tender parents following the breathlefs youth to his long home. Perhaps, drowned in tears, and all overwhelmed with forrows, they ftood, like weeping ftatues, on this very fpot. Methinks I fee the deeply-diftreffed mourners attending the fad folemnity. How they wring their hands, and pour forth floods from their eyes! Is it fancy? or do I really hear the paffionate mother, in an agony of affliction, taking her final leave of the darling of her foul? Dumb the remained, while the awful obfequies were performing; dumb with grief, and leaning upon the partner of her woes. But now the inward anguifh ftruggles for vent; it grows too big to be repreffed. She advances to the brink of the grave. All her foul

is in her eyes. She faftens one more look upon the dear doleful object, before the pit fhuts its mouth upon him. And as the looks, fhe cries, in broken accents, interrupted by many a rifing fob, fhe cries, Farewell, my fon! my fon! my only beloved! would to God I had died for thee! Farewell, my child! and farewell all earthly happiness! I fhall never more fee good in the land of the living. Attempt not to comfort me. I will go mourning all my days, till my gray hairs come down with forrow to the grave.

SCENE FROM THE DRAMA OF "MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES."

JOCHEBED, MIRIAM.

HY was my prayer accepted? why did Heaven

Jochebed. WH

In anger hear me, when I ask'd a fon ?

Ye dames of Egypt! happy! happy mothers!
No tyrant robs you of your fondeft hopes;
You are not doom'd to fee the babes you bore,
The babes you nurture, bleed before your eyes!
You taste the tranfports of maternal love,
And never know its anguifh! Happy mothers!
How different is the lot of thy fad daughters,
O wretched Ifrael! Was it then for this?
Was it for this the righteous arm of God
Refcu'd his chofen people from the jaws
Of cruel want, by pious Jofeph's care?
Joseph th' elected inftrument of Heav'n,
Decreed to fave illuftrious Abram's race,
What time the famine rag'd in Canaan's land.
Ifrael, who then was fpar'd, muft perish now!
O thou myfterious Pow'r! who hast involv'd
Thy wife decrees in darkness, to perplex
The pride of human wifdom, to confound
The daring fcrutiny, and prove the faith
Of thy prefuming creatures! clear this doubt;
Teach me to trace this maze of Providence ;
Why fave the fathers, if the fons must perish?
Miriam. Ah me, my mother! whence these floods
of grief?

Joch. My fon! my fon! I cannot speak the reft. Ye who have fons can only know my fondness! Ye who have loft them, or who fear to lofe, Can only know my pangs! None else can guess them. A mother's forrows cannot be conceiv'd,

But by a mother. Wherefore am I one?

Mir. With many pray'rs thou didst request this fon, And Heav'n has granted him.

O fad eftate

Foch.
Of human wretchednefs! So weak is man,
So ignorant and bilnd, that did not God
Sometimes withhold in mercy what we afk,
We should be ruin'd at our own request.

Too well thou know'ft, my child, the stern decree
Of Egypt's cruel king, hard-hearted Pharaoh ;