"No (said the penitent): such words shall share
This breath no more; devoted now to pray'r!
O! if Thou seest, (Thine eye the future sees ;)
That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these;
Now strike me to the ground on which I kneel,
Ere yet this heart relapses into steel;

Now take me to that Heaven I once defied,
Thy presence, thy embrace !"-he spoke and died!

A TALE.

In Scotland's realm, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;

But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found:-

For husband there and wife may boast
Their union undefiled;

And false ones are as rare almost,
As hedge-rows in the wild ;-
In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare,
This hist'ry chanced of late-
This hist'ry of a wedded pair,

A chaffinch and his mate.

The spring drew near, each felt a breast
With genial instinct fill'd;

They pair'd, and only wish'd a nest,
But found not where to build.
The heaths uncover'd, and the moors,
Except with snow and sleet;
Sea-beaten rocks, and naked shores,
Could yield them no retreat.

Long time a breeding place they sought
Till both grew vexed and tired;
At length a ship arriving, brought
The good so long desired.

A ship! could such a restless thing
Afford them place to rest?

Or was the merchant charged to bring
The homeless birds a nest?

Hush!-Silent hearers profit most !—
This racer of the sea

Proved kinder to them than the coast,
It served them with a tree.

But such a tree; 'twas shaven deal,
The tree they call'd a mast;
And had a hollow with a wheel,
Through which the tackle pass'd.

Within that cavity aloft

Their roofless home they fix'd;
Form'd with materials neat and soft,
Bents, wool, and feathers mixt.

Is doubtless left behind.

No!-soon as from ashore he saw

The winged mansion move;
He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never-failing love!

Then perching at his consort's side,
Was briskly borne along;
The billows and the blast defied,
And cheer'd her with a song.
The seaman, with sincere delight,
His feather'd shipmate eyes,
Scarce less exulting in the sight,
Than when he tows a prize.

For seamen much believe in signs,
And from a chance so new
Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true!

Hail! honour'd land! a desert, where
Not even birds can hide;

Yet parent of this loving pair,

Whom nothing could divide:

And ye who, rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan,

Were not afraid to plough the brine
with man;

In company

To whose lean country, much disdain
We English often show,

Yet from a richer nothing gain

But wantonness and woe;

Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove!

And may ye, sometimes landing here,
Instruct us how to love!

This tale is founded on an anecdote, which the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words. Glasgow, May 23.

In a block or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food.

STANZAS,

ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH, BY A LADY,

In returning a Poem of Mr. Cowper's lent to the Writer, on condition she should neither show it, nor take a copy.

What wonder if my wavering hand

Had dared to disobey,

When Hesketh gave a harsh command,
And Cowper led astray.

Then take this tempting gift of thine,
By pen uncopied yet!
But canst thou Memory confine,
Or teach me to forget?

More lasting than the touch of art,
Her characters remain ;
When written by a feeling heart
On tablets of the brain.

COWPER'S REPLY.

To be remember'd thus is fame,
And in the first degree;
And did the few, like her, the same,

The press might rest for me.

So Homer, in the mem'ry stor'd

Of many a Grecian belle,

Was once preserved-a richer hoard,

But never lodged so well.

The following Stanzas of Cowper were lately sent to me by his worthy kinsman of Norfolk-they had been recently discovered by a faithful servant of the Poet in an old book of domestic accounts. Although they are apparently so incomplete, that we may believe their author intended to close them with one or two additional stanzas, they yet seem to breathe so much of his devout spirit, that I gladly insert them in these pages.

To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope,
My soul is in haste to be gone:
O bear me, ye Cherubims, up,

And waft me away to his throne!
My Saviour, whom absent I love,
Whom not having seen I adore:
Whose name is exalted above

All Glory, Dominion, and Power.
Dissolve thou the bond that detains
My soul from her portion in Thee!
And strike off the adamant chains,
And make me eternally free!

When that happy æra begins,
When array'd in thy beauty I shine,
Nor pierce any more by my sins
The bosom, on which I recline:-

No. 2.

FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS.

A Spartan, his companion slain,

Alone from battle fled,

His mother kindling with disdain

That she had borne him, struck him dead;

For courage, and not birth alone,

In Sparta, testifies a son!

ON THE SAME BY PALLADAS.

A Spartan escaping from the fight,
His mother met him in his flight,
Upheld a falchion to his breast,
And thus the fugitive address'd :

"Thou canst but live to blot with shame

Indelible thy mother's name,

While ev'ry breath that thou shalt draw,
Offends against thy country's law;
But, if thou perish by this hand,
Myself indeed throughout the land,
To my dishonour shall be known
The mother still of such a son,
But Sparta will be safe and free,
And that shall serve to comfort me."

AN EPITAPH.

My name-my country-what are they to thee?
What, whether base or proud my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men-
Perhaps I fell below them all-what then?
Suffice it, stranger! that thou seest a tomb-
Thou know'st its use-it hides-no matter whom.

ANOTHER

Take to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain
With much hard labour in thy service worn.
He set the vines, that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives that the vale adorn.

He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bow'rs;
Thou, therefore, earth! lie lightly on his head,
His hoary head, and deck his grave with flow'rs.

ANOTHER.

Painter, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.

ANOTHER.

At threescore winters' end I died
A cheerless being, sole and sad ;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.

BY CALLIMACHUS.

At morn we placed on his funeral bier
Young Melanippus; and at eventide
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,

By her own hand his blooming sister died.
Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race,
Annihilated by a double blow,

Nor son could hope, nor daughter more t' embrace,
And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe.

ON MILTIADES.

Miltiades! thy valour best

(Although in every region known)
The men of Persia can attest,
Taught by thyself at Marathon.

ON AN INFANT.

Bewail not much, my parents! me, the prey
Of ruthless Ades, and sepulchred here.
An infant, in my fifth scarce finished year,
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay,
Your young Callimachus; and if I knew
Not many joys, my griefs were also few.

BY HERACLIDES.

In Cnidus born, the consort I became
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name.
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride,
But bore two children at a birth and died.