Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if on the banks of yon stream,
Reclin❜d on her bosom, I sink into sleep
Her image still softens my dream.

Together we range on the slow rising hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,

Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils,
And point out new themes for my Muse.

To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,
The damsel's of humble descent,

The cottager Peace is well known for her sire,
And shepherds have nam'd her CONTENT.

Horace in London still continues to enchant the witty and the fair. The following is by no means inferior to the original. Many of the concluding stanzas are in the very spirit of pleasantry. Henry Hase, it must be remembered by our American readers, is the successor to Abraham Newland, as cashier of the Bank of England.

HORACE IN LONDON.-BOOK V. ODE 15.

TO A COQUET.

Nox erat et coelo fulgebat Luna sereno.

Twas night, and modest Cynthia's flame

Lighted down stairs her radient brother,

When, thee, dear Lucy, perjur'd dame,

Swore never more to love another.

Then thus began my soul's delight,
Sweet Janus with two pretty faces,

Straining me in her arms as tight

As Scotia's sons adhere to places.

"While folly is the food of wit,

And politics dissension nourish,

While Epsom races charm the cit,

So long our mutual love shall flourish."

O falser, than the Goodwin sand!

I'll be no longer pleased with ruin,
I'll break the web thy cunning plann'd
And sink the Jerry in the Bruin.

Henceforth my heart, like thine shall roam,
Anger than slighted love is stronger;
Night after night, and ne'er at home,

By Heaven! I'll bear with it no longer.

No longer nibbling at thy hook,

Shall liberated Flaccus dangle:

Go, for another blockhead look,

Go, for another gudgeon angle.

And thou, fond youth, who mock'st my wo,
Of Cupid's forces joint paymaster,

High as thy tide of wealth may flow

Drain'd by her hand 'twill ebb much faster.

Thee too, whene'er thy cash is spent,

Shall leave a slave in Love's dominions,

And with her all thy lands in Kent

Shall wing their flight on parchment pinions.

Then merry in my turn, shall I

Laugh to hehold thee make wry faces,

And in thine ear triumphant cry

Where now are all thy Henry Hases.

WE are apprehensive that the following national song, which we think has great merit, is copied from an imperfect, or surreptitious manuscript. Even if this be fact, the genius of the author shines gloriously through the cloud. We should be delighted, if Dr. Dwight, the reputed author, would establish the present reading, or indicate another.

COLUMBIA! Columbia! to glory arise,

Thou Queen of the World, and thou child of the skies;
Thy Genius commands thee, with raptures behold;
While ages on ages thy splendours unfold.

EDITOR.

Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of Time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime:
Let the crimes of the east ne'er incrimson thy name,
Be Freedom and Science, and Virtue thy fame.
To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire,
Whelm nations in blood, wrap cities in fire;
Thy heroes the rights of mandkind shall defend,
And Triumph pursue them, and Glory attend:
A World is thy realm; for a world be thy laws,
Enlarg❜d as thy Empire and just as thy cause
On Freedom's broad basis that Empire shall rise,
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.
Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,

And the East see thy Morn hide the beams of her star;
New Bards, and new Sages unrivalled shall soar,
By Fame still distinguish'd when time is no more;
To thee the last refuge of Virtue's designed,
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind;

There, grateful to Heaven, with transport shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odours of Spring.

Nor less shall thy Fair ones to Glory ascend,
And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend;
Their graces of form shall wake pure desire,
And the charms of the Soul still enliven the fire:
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined,
And Virtue's bright image instamped on the mind.
With peace and sweet rapture shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile on the aspect of wo.

Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display,
The nations admire, and the ocean obey;

Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,

And the East and the South yield their spices and gold;
As the day spring unbounded, thy splendours shall flow,
And Earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow;
While the ensigns of union, in triumphs unfurled
Hush Anarchy's sway, and give peace to the world.
Thus, as down a lone valley, mid the poplar's soft shade,
From the din of the city, I pensively strayed.

The gloom from the face of fair Heav'n retired,
The winds ceas'd to murmur, the thunders expired;
Perfumes, as of Eden, flowed sweetly along,
And a voice, as of Angels, enchantingly sung:
Columbia! Columbia! to Glory arise,

Thou Queen of the World, and thou child of the skies.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO-THE DRAMA.

Mr. COOKE.

For more than twenty years, we have not negligently visited the theatre, nor have we been indifferent to the song and the dance, the grief and melancholy of the dramatic Muses. Supinely careless of German gibberish, of the mummery of pantomime, of the folly of faree, and the nugae canorae of the Italians, we have whispered to ourselves on each interesting eve of scenic exhibition:

"To the well trod stage anon,

If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood notes wild.

In the following elegant and eloquent analysis of the splendid powers of the matchless CooкE, a Shakspearean scholar of whom Garrick might be justly proud, the able author, and amiable friend, has, at our especial request, fulfilled a task, from which, broken and declining health compelled us, for a moment, to shrink. If country air, and the tranquillity of solitude, unprofaned by the meaner cares of life, should have their usual effect upon the system of an invalid, then, even the feeblest of the Muses' train may hope to dwell, with undissembled rapture, on the sublime and beautiful of the acting of Mr. Cooke, a GREAT AND GENUINE GENIUS, whom we ardently hope, might, by any prayers, be induced once more to forsake England for America, and suffer our wishes to have the potency of the witchcraft of VIRGIL's shepherd.

Ducite aburbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnin.

WHEN the people of America were told of the engagement of the celebrated Mr. Cooke, they were dubious whether to consider it a fraud practised upon their credulity or merely an idle report without substance and without a cause. They had been accustomed to hear of wonders acted in the old world; of captains speaking captains in such a degree of latitude, and to regard a rumour, whether dramatic or political, as a mere pageant, which might sometimes excite a hope or fear, but could not form or fix belief. During this oscillation of judgment, many reasons presented themselves which exhibited the story as something more than fabulous. Without searching for a cause in the pecuniary embarrassments, or political anxieties which are said to harass the public mind in Britain, Mr. Cooke might have found weighty inducements towards a transatlantic excur

sion. Curiosity, the active tenant of a sprightly mind might, strongly tempt him to contemplate the wonders of the western wilderness-the desire of gain, had it ever found its way to ȧ liberal soul, might prompt a distinguished performer to try the temper of a new public-the love of fame, the strongest impulse to human action, would seduce an aspiring mind to follow his reputation with his presence, to receive the admiring plaudits of another world, and to greet an homage which anxiously awaited it. In addition to all this, the mere circumstance of a twelve-month's absence would of itself so enhance his value by producing a conviction of his necessity, that even supposing him to be idly loitering his hours and suffering his "disport to corrupt and stain his business”—still, the rejoicings at his resuscitation would more than compensate the pains of parting and the grievances of separation. But when instead of "sighing away sundays", the sun beams of rich reward played before his fancy; it needed no contradiction from the Newyork manager to convince us, that Mr. Cooke's engagement was not the heedless error of an ebriated moment, but the sober, deliberate, and judicious determination of a mind widely awake to its interests, and sensible to the impressions of reason. Still however, doubts existed. News so excellent, a banquet to the dramatic epicure so rich and so abundant, seemed to promise such delight, that the public did but fearfully expect, what they so fervently desired. Strange as it may seem Mr. Cooke was actually in Newyork, and performing for some days, before the people of Boston and Philadelphia gave full credit to the story. One belief was, that some singer of the name had by his arrival created the report, and another, more current than the first, denied the existence of any foundation for it at all.

A new era was now commenced in our dramatic world. The actor who had for many years held the palm above every competitor, even in Great Britain-who had fascinated and delighted audiences the most scientific, whose reputation had pierced through the obscurity, with which an irregular life had surrounded it, and had shone above censure and almost above praise-he, who had cast a shade upon the well-earned laurels of the great Garrick himself, or rather had torn them from his