Marks the clear spring, or bubbling rill.
The lowlier hut hard by the river's edge,
The boat, the seine suspended, tell the place
Where, in their season, hardy fishers toil.
More elevated on the grassy slope,

The farmer's mansion rises mid his trees; Thence, o'er his fields the master's watchful eye Surveys the whole. He sees his flocks, his herds, (Excluded from the grain-built cone; all else, While rigid Winter reigns, their free domain!) Range through the pastures, crop the tender root,

Or climbing heights abrupt, search careful out, The welcome herb,-now prematurely sprung Through half-thawed earth. Beside him spreading elms

His friendly barrier from th' invading north, Contrast their shields defensive with the willow, Whose flexile drapery sweeps his rustic lawn. Before him lie his vegetable stores,

His garden, orchards, meadows-all his hopes-
Now bound in icy chains: but ripening suns
Shall bring their treasures to his plenteous
board.

Soon too, the hum of busy man shall wake
Th' adjacent shores. The baited hook, the net,
Drawn skilful round the wat'ry cove, shall bring
Their prize delicious to the rural feast.

Here blooms the laurel on the rugged breaks, Umbrageous, verdant, through the circling year

His bushy mantle scorning winds or snows. While there-two ample streams confluent

grace

Complete the picture-animate the whole!

Broad o'er the plain the Susquehanna rolls His rapid waves far sounding as he comes. Through many a distant clime and verdant vale, Of Pennsylvania's affluent domain.

A thousand springy caverns yield their rills, Augmenting still his force. The torrent grows, Spreads deep and wide, till braving all restraint Ev'n mountain ridges feel the imperious press; Forced from their ancient rock-bound basethey leave

Their monumental sides, erect, to guard

The pass-and tell to future days, and years,
The wond'rous tale! Meanwhile,

The conqueror flood holds on his course,
Resistless ever-sinuous, or direct.
Unconscious tribes beneath his surface play,
Nor heed the laden barques, his bosom bears;
Now gliding swiftly by the threat'ning rocks,
Now swimming smoothly to the distant bay.
To meet and bring his liberal tribute too,
The modest Octorara winds his way--
Not ostentatious like a boasting world
Their little charities proclaiming loud-
But silent through the glade retir'd, and wild,
Between the shaded banks on either hand,

Till circling yonder mead--he yields his name.

Nor proudly, Susquehanna! boast thy gain,
For thence, not far, thou too, like him shalt give
Thy congregated waters, title-all,

To swell the nobler name of CHESAPEAKE!
And is not such a scene as this the spell,
That lulls the restless passions into peace?
Yes. Cold must be the sordid heart, unmov'd
By nature's bounties: but they cannot fill,
That ardent craving in the mind of man,
For social intercourse,—the healthful play—
The moral gem-the light of intellect-
Communion sweet with those we love!

S. H.

Octorara.

TO MY GLASS.

I HAVE lov'd thee, dearly lov'd thee,
Since my soul delight could know;
How delicious I have prov'd thee,
Let my red cheek blushing show.

Ten long years, to banish sorrow,
I have fill'd thee o'er and o'er;
Never thinking of to-morrow,
Every day I lov'd thee more!

Play nor business could not charm me
I no joy in love could see,
Nor could sober thoughts alarm me,
Save the thought of losing thee.

When unhallow'd hands have touch'd thee,
I have sigh'd with jealous pain;
When a thirsty lip has drain'd thee,
I have fill'd thee oft again!

ORLANDO.

"THERE'S NOTHING TRUE BUT HEAVEN."

THIS world is but a silly stage,

Illusions through it glancing;

The hopes of youth, the fears of age,
By turns the wav'ring mind engage,
There's nothing true but dancing!

The light that gleams o'er hero's swords
Is false, as 'tis entrancing;
And still less rapture love affords,
For courting is a waste of words,

There's nothing bright but dancing!

Poor mortals! in a world of pain,

Their sorrow still enhancing—

Who break their heart for love or gain,
When 'twould be better far to sprain
Or break their ankles dancing!

ORLANDO.

SAPPHIC IMITATION OF OTIUM DIVOS.

ADDRESS TO MY FRIEND, J. D. ESQ.

EASE is the pray'r of solitary trav❜ler,
Whom tipsy driver rattles in a mail-stage,*
Darksome the night, cold, supperless, and
sleepy,

Tavern afar off.

Notes by Dennie.

The classical reader, after perusing this line, will perceive that the poet has, with the dexterity of some drivers, contrived to produce a sort of jolt, in his rapid career. The hemistich "rattles in a mail-stage" may be arranged with the

Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum

of VIRGIL.

P