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What energy,

O soul is thine;

How you reflect, resolve, combine;
Invention all your own!
Material bodies changed by you,
New modes assume, or natures new,
From death or chaos won.

To intellectual powers, though strong,.
To moral powers a use belong
More noble and refined;

These lift us to the power who made,
Illume what seems to us all shade,
The part to man assigned.

Both nurtured in the heart of man,
Serve to advance his social plan,
And happier make his race;
Hence Reason takes her potent sway,
And grovelling passions bids obey,
That harm us and debase.

O ye, who long have walked obscure;
Forever must those clouds endure
Which darken human bliss?
Though for some better state design',
Is there not vigour in the mind

To make a heaven of this.

Eternal must that

progress be,
Which nature through futurity
Decrees the human soul;
Capacious still, it still improves,
As through the abyss of time it moves,
Or endless ages roll.

Its knowledge grows by every change;
Through science vast we see it range,
That none may here acquire;
The pause of death must come between
And nature gives another scene,
More brilliant to admire.

Thus decomposed, or recombined,
To slow perfection moves the mind,
And may at last attain

U

A nearer rank with that first cause,
Which distant, though it ever draws,
Unequalled must remain.

Its moral beauty thus displayed,
In moral excellence arrrayed,
Perpetually it shines:

Its heaven of happiness complete,
The mass of souls united meet

In orbs that heaven assigns.

Lines on a Distrest Orator.

At a Public Exhibition.

Six weeks and more he taxed his brain,
And wrote petitions to the Muses-
Poor orator! 'twas all in vain,
For what they lent your memory
Now hear the culprit's self confess,
In strain of woe his sad distress:-

loses

"I went upon the public stage,
"I flounc'd and floundered in a rage,
"I gabbled like a goose:

"I talk'd of custom, fame, and fashion,
Of moral evil, and compassion,
"And pray what more?

My words were few, I must confess,

"And very silly my address, "A melancholy tale!

"In short I knew not what to say-
I squinted this and the other way,
"Like Lucifer.

"Alack a day! my friends, quoth I,
"I guess you'll get no more from me-
"In troth I have forgot it!-
O my Oration! thou art fled;
"And not a trace within my head
"Remains to me!

PRENAU.

"What could be done?-I gaped once more. "And set the audience in a roar,

"They laughed me out of face

"I turned my eyes from north to south-
"I clapt my fingers in my mouth-
"And down I came !"

FRENAU.

The Eagle and the Cat.

From a Fable in prose by doctor Franklin.

ONE morning, as grimalkin sat

Hard by a barn to watch a rat,

An eagle soaring high in air,

There spied him squatting like a hare.

"Thank Jove!" said she "good cheer at last,.

Upon a hare I'll break my fast"

Then cow'ring from the clouds she came
Headlong, and pounc'd upon her game,
In both her talons seiz❜d the prey,
And for the mountains bore away.
Grimalkin to a rude attack

Was never known to turn his back.
With foremost claws he fiercely clings
Forthwith on both the eagles wings,
About her sides the hinder ply,
At ev'ry stroke the feathers fly.

"Ah, cease dear puss! a truce I crave;"
Exclaim'd the bird-" Thy life I'll save"
"No!" said the cat "your carcase shall
From this great height now break my fall.
Unless you ease me to ground,

And leave me just where I was found."
Then at her throat he forward sprung,
And like a fury, there he hung.
The bird of Jove, though sadly torn,
To yield the fight had still forborne ;
But what avail'd her strength of sight,
Her rapid wing or skill in fight;
These erst her pride;-were now decreed
To fail her in the time of need:

No choice was left her but to choke,
Or bend her neck beneath the yoke,
For reasons warriors often give;
A prudent choice she made to live-
To live! and breathe the vital air,
And to her young extend her care.
So, stooping from a fearful height,
She downward tamely takes her flight;
And leaves grimalkin free to roam
About the barn, his ancient home,

Port Folio.

True Beauty.

"Tis not the auburn locks of hair;
That play in ringlets round the fair:
"Tis not her cheeks, o'erspread with smiles;
"Tis not her voice which care beguiles;
"Tis not her lips with roses dress'd,
Where vagrant bees would fondly rest:
"Tis not her blue eyes' thrilling glance;
'Tis not her feet that thrid the dance;
"Tis not the grace with which they move,
That warms my heart with ardent love.
But 'tis her finely polish'd mind,
By virtue's rarest rules refin'd;
Like Hesper at the eve of day,
When Sol emits his faintest ray.
Modest and meek, without pretence
To other charms than charms of sense--
To charms which shine when Beauty fades,

And wrinkled Age the form invades

To these a lovely maid aspires,

And these awake my bosom's fires;
For they can warm my throbbing heart,
Without the aid of Fancy's art.
When Time uplifts his palsying hand,
And strikes the visage with his wand:
When cheeks no more with ardour glow,
And silver'd curls resemble snow;

When eyes have lost their humid blue,
And lips have chang'd their roseate hue;
Ah! then how weak is beauty's power,
To charm the slowly passing hour!

Port Folio.

Destruction of Caraccas by an Earthquake..

THE morning dawn'd, the sun its splendours shed,
And o'er heaven's arch a clear effulgence spread;
The warbling songster tuned the note of love,
And echo trill'd it through the shady grove.
In God's high temple swell'd devotion's song,
The winding aisles the sacred sounds prolong;
To one Supreme the solemn crowds addrest
An incense rising from a people's breast!
While thus Caraccas sought the Godhead's care,
And fervent thousands bent in earnest prayer,
Earth shook, terrific glow'd the flaming skies,
Wild horror reign'd and rent the air with cries;
The crashing edifice in ruin spread,

Entomb'd alike the living and the dead;
From earth's abyss electric flashes pour'd,
Death frown'd where'er the gushing torrent roar'd,
How chang'd the scene! how still the spacious street
Where busy circles oft were wont to meet!
With souls adventurous sketch'd mercantile views,
Told some shrewd joke, or eager ask'd the news!
How changed the closing from the opening day!
No more the warbling carol wakes the spray;
The
song of mirth, the busy hum is o'er
And thousands sleep, alas! to-wake no more.
The wretched widow wanders wild and lone,
Seeks her dear lord with agonizing moan,
Tosses her arms, her lovely tresses rends,
Hies to each corse and silent o'er it bends;
Alas! disconsolate, dejected fair,
Vain all your search, vain all your
tender care
Where spread around your shatter'd turret fell,
Beneath lies crush'd the form you loved so well

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