"Hence, and rejoice. The glorious work is done. 1 30 ORIGINAL POETRY.-FOR THE PORT FOLIO. TO A ROSE BUD, ON MY STUDY TABLE. ILLFATED bud! and must thou bloom, Where flowery fragrance never breath'd before, Among the ponderous tomes of wights profound. Of one who dearly loves such gift of spring, For I a verse will sing. See Paradise Lost. X. Cortes, Pizarro. Almost all,' says Las Casas, have perished. The innocent blood, which they had shed, called aloud for vengeance; the sighs, the tears of so many victims went up before God.' L'Espagne a fait comme ce roi insensé qui demanda que toute ce qu'il toucheroit se convertit en or, et qui fut oblige de revenir aux dicux pour les prier de finir sa misère. Montesq. 627 Such as the youthful bard in fancy's dream, Forms for his love, and thou shalt be my theme I'll say, to the beauties that No nymph resemblance so perfect has borne; Of doubt that chills and hope that warms, FOR THE PORT FOLIO. TO MARIA. You did not like my lay uncouth, 'Tis true, I was a silly elf, Yes, yes, I should have been more wise, Toiling, with tropes and figures fine, If I had said, to form your eyes, That Nature search'd through all the skies, If I had called you mild as even, H. No doubt I should have won your trust, You would have thought me frank and just, But I'll not jest; for I by half, Am more disposed to frown than laugh; I'm sure I said no more to you, Than what was natural and true. I said I doubted if the bard Might hope to claim your heart's regard, Now if I err'd in doubts like these, I will not rove about the skies And if you think such speech amiss, J. M-Y. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. TO MARIA, ON HER RESTORATION TO HEALTH. From the rude hand of Pain and Wo, I hail thee, gentle maid, releas'd! Thanks to the power that made thee whole, And first in beauty's matchless train, 627 'Tis bliss to find those eyes relume Since Spring now visits all the land, Come then, and let us tread the greens Come, and we'll breathe this grateful air, I long to see thee taste the sweets, Then to my eye these hills and vales And then shall birds, and streams, and gales, R. TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. IT has been long and justly lamented, that while almost every nation of Europe, however miserable its condition or humble its political importance, has a traditionary music, and national airs, our country alone does not yet possess these important characteristics. This is, indeed, a great and prominent defect in our social and political existence. Blest as we unquestionably are with more individual and general prosperity, than is enjoyed by any other people, and as strenuously attached to our national institutions, we yet in this country want an undefined something of national feeling, and of general sympathy which unites societies more powerfully than the mutual enjoyment of all these advantages. It is not the casual vicinity of our homes that makes a nation. It is not a cold and prudent calculation of the benefits of union and the dangers of dissension, which binds states together. It is a higher, and a more generous sentiment, the kindred feelings, the resembling habits, the consciousness of mutual esteem, the sense of common dangers, all these more than the calm deliberations of wisdom, come warm and rushing from the heart to make us not merely know, but feel that we have a country. It is this, noble sentiment, which reason can neither form, nor control, nor even sometimes approve, which thrills through our breasts at the remembrance of our country-which identifies our pride, with its glory-which makes us blush for its failings, or weep for its misfortunes, or swell with its triumphs, and fixing on that country, our undivided affections, surrounds its institutions with the sacred enthusiasm of the passions. In no manner can these feelings be inspired or preserved, more effectually, than by national and characteristic poetry. They thus approach us with all the fascinations of genius, at an age when the generous passions are alone awakened, and connecting themselves with our earliest and dearest associations, establish over our bosoms, a seductive and durable empire. Their influence need not be told to those who know the power of physical sounds, in union with endearing recollections, or who remember, that since the time of Tyrtæus to the days of Dibdin, the songs and poetry of a nation have always prepared or accompanied its triumphs. "Let me make the ballads of a nation, and I care not who makes the laws," was the observation of a judicious and profound statesman, which is peculiarly applicable to the popular institutions of our own country. During the long interval of repose in which this nation has slumbered, the feelings of mutual kindness, and conciliation, which should attach us to each other, have, unhappily, lost too much of |