That though man have the wings of the fetterless wind, Of the wantonest air that the north can unbind,

Yet if health do not sweeten the blast with her bloom,
Nor virtue's aroma its pathway perfume,

Unblest is the freedom and dreary the flight,
That but wanders to ruin and wantons to blight!

Farewell to the few I have left with regret, May they sometimes recall, what I cannot forget, That communion of heart and that parley of soul, Which has lengthen'd our nights and illumin'd our bowl, When they've ask'd me the manners, the mind or the mien Of some bard I had known or some chief I had seen, Whose glory, though distant, they long had ador'd, Whose name often hallow'd the juice of their board! And still as, with sympathy humble but true,

I told them each luminous trait that I knew,

They have listen'd, and sigh'd that the powerful stream
Of America's empire should pass, like a dream,
Without leaving one fragment of genius, to say
How sublime was the tide which had vanish'd away!
Farewell to the few-though we never may meet
On this planet again, it is soothing and sweet

To think that, whenever my song or my name
Shall recur to their ear, they'll recall me the same
I have been to them now, young, unthoughtful and blest,
Ere hope had deceiv'd me or sorrow deprest!

But, DOUGLAS! while thus I endear to my mind
The elect of the land we shall soon leave behind,
I can read in the weather-wise glance of thine eye,
As it follows the rack flitting over the sky,

That the faint coming breeze will be fair for our flight,
And shall steal us away, ere the falling of night.
Dear DOUGLAS! thou knowest, with thee by my side,
With thy friendship to soothe me, thy courage to guide,
There is not a bleak isle in those summerless seas,

Where the day comes in darkness or shines but to freeze,
Not a tract of the line, not a barbarous shore,
That I could not with patience, with pleasure explore!
Oh! think then how happy I follow thee now,
When hope smooths the billowy path of our prow,
And each prosperous sigh of the west-springing wind
Takes me nearer the home where my heart is inshrin'd;
Where the smile of a father shall meet me again,
And the tears of a mother turn bliss into pain;

Where the kind voice of sisters shall steal to my heart, And ask it, in sighs, how we ever could part!—

But see!—the bent top-sails are ready to swellTo the boat-I am with thee-Columbia farewell!

ΤΟ

LADY H———,

ON

AN OLD RING FOUND AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS.

* Tunnebrige est à la même distance de Londres, que Fontainebleau l'est de Paris. Ce qu'il

y a de beau et de galant dans l'un et dans l'autre sexe s'y rassemble au tems des eaux. La "compagnie, &c. &c."

See Mémoires de Grammont, Second. Part. Chap. iii.

TUNBRIDGE WELLS, AUGUST, 1805.

WHEN Grammont grac'd these happy springs,

And Tunbridge saw, upon her Pantiles,
The merriest wight of all the kings

That ever rul'd these gay, gallant isles ;

Like us, by day, they rode, they walk'd,
At eve, they did as we may do,
And Grammont just like Spencer talk'd,
And lovely Stewart smil'd like you!

The only different trait is this,
That woman then, if man beset her,
Was rather given to saying "yes,”
Because, as yet, she knew no better!

Each night they held a coterie,

Where every fear to slumber charm'd, Lovers were all they ought to be,

And husbands not the least alarm'd!

They call'd up all their school-day pranks,
Nor thought it much their sense beneath
To play at riddles, quips and cranks,

And lords shew'd wit, and ladies teeth.

As-" Why are husbands like the Mint?"
Because, forsooth, a husband's duty

Is just to set the name and print
That give a currency to beauty.

Why is a garden's wilder'd maze "Like a young widow, fresh and fair?" Because it wants some hand to raise

The weeds, which "have no business there!"