exact attention paid to every department, during the engagement, and the animating example he afforded the crew by his intrepidity. Lieutenants Rodgers and Booth, and Mr. Rapp, showed by the incessant fire from their divisions, that they were not to be sur passed in resolution or skill. Mr. Knight, and every other officer, acted with a courage and promptitude highly honourable. Lieutenant Claxton, who was confined by sickness, left his bed a little previous to the engagement; and, though too weak to be at his division, remained upon deck, and showed, by his composed manner of noting its incidents, that we had lost, by his illness, the services of a brave officer." ORIGINAL POETRY-FOR THE PORT FOLIO. I HOPE, Mr. Oldschool, you will not deem me intrusive, for having offered to your consideration some lines, written on the splendid victory achieved by captain Jones, of the United States' sloop of war Wasp, in an engagement with the British sloop of war Frolic. Probably the records of naval history will not furnish another instance of a victory so decisive, with such inequality of force, achieved in so short a space, with so much damage enemy, and with so little comparative loss. If any thing could add to our gratification, it is the peculiar modesty with which captain Jones relates this brilliant affair, in his official account of the transaction. to the FRESH blows the gale-o'er Ocean's azure realm, A band of heroes all his dangers share! At length, impell'd by favouring gales along, The dread avenger of our country's wrong, While, undisturb'd, the treasur'd vengeance sleeps. Dim in th' horizon, Albion's hostile star, Near and more near the bloody contest draws- It was an hour to none but heroes dear, At such an hour, what hostile passions meet! All throng, tumultuous, through the stoutest heart! But mark! around what sudden glooms infest, Unusual darkness on the surface lies, Now light returns: but what dismay and rout! Short was the contest-O! in pity, spare! But welcome, heroes! to your native land; And welcome ВоoтH and RODGERS! Welcome KNIGHT! This poor requital, and with rudeness slight Nor CLAXTON† shall thy worth unsung remain, Nor shall thy merits, BIDDLE, pass untold, He mov'd the foremost of the gallant band, Then welcome, heroes! for your glory lives; ODE TO HONOUR-FOR THE PORT FOLIO. HAIL! Spirit of the lion brood! Crown'd with lightning, thron'd in storm, Thy mandate bids the phalanx form, Thy thirsting, like the Danish shade, Thine are the sybil tomes of fate; 'Tis but to offer at thy shrine That crowns from danger's front are torn; And that mild dictate comes from thee, The fiercer inmates of his breast. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. L. MR. OLDSCHOOL, THE following poetry falling accidentally into my hands, my admiration of it induced me to make some inquiry respecting its origin and author. It was occasioned by the decease of an amiable and lovely young lady, under very affecting and peculiar circumstances. Cherishing for a long time the idea of hymeneal connexion with the object of her earliest choice and most ardent affections, she was attacked, in the bloom of eighteen, with a pulmonary complaint, which finally overthrew all the fond expectations of herself and friends. Led by slow degrees to the precincts of a premature grave, she found herself at length compelled to abandon, for other and sublimer contemplation, what had hitherto been to her a source of purest delight, and exchange her thoughts of earthly happiness for hopes of heavenly participation, through the medium of her God: while the unceasing attentions, and undeviating devotedness of her lover, during the whole period of her fatal illness, pressing on the grateful, and most exquisite sensibilities of her nature, endeared him to her even in the arms of dissolution. She died the 10th of July, 1812. THE VISION. DEEP in a shade, through banks of flow'rs, The streamlet wound its way, And softly sped the noiseless hours While thus, in a voluptuous calm, I saw a maiden, wond'rous fair, Glance through the thicken'd shade, With murmuring zephyrs play'd. And on her cheek the rose had seem'd Upon her balmy lips there play'd Ah! how my throbbing pulses beat For ne'er seem'd transport half so sweet I flew to clasp her to my heart- A deadly paleness mark'd each part, Intent on me she fixed her eye, The gentle spirit breathed a sigh, And vanish'd from the grove! C. |