Our stage,

Which good Brissot, with brains so critical

And sage,

Calleth the true "machine political") * With all its load of uncles, scholars, nieces, Together jumbled,

Tumbled

Into a rut and fell to pieces!

Good night!-my bed must be,
By this time, warm enough for me,
Because I find old Ephraim Steady
And Miss his niece are there already!

Some cavillers

Object to sleep with fellow-travellers;

* "The American stages are the true political carriages." BRISSOT's Travels, letter 6th.-There is nothing more amusing than the philosophical singeries of these French travellers. In one of the letters of Clavière, prefixed to those of Brissot, upon their plan for establishing a republic of philosophers in some part of the western world, he intreats Brissot to be particular in choosing a place "where there are no musquitoes :" forsooth, ne quid respublica detrimenti caperet!

But

Saints protect the pretty quaker,
Heaven forbid that I should wake her!

*

TO A FRIEND.

WHEN next you see the black eyed Caty,
The loving, languid girl of Hayti, *
Whose finger so expertly plays
Amid the ribbon's silken maze,

Just like Aurora, when she ties
A rainbow round the morning skies!

Say, that I hope, when winter's o'er,
On Norfolk's bank again to rove,
And then shall search the ribbon store

For some of Caty's softest love.

Among the West-Indian French at Norfolk, there are some very interesting Saint Domingo girls, who, in the day, sell millinery, etc., and at night assemble in little cotillion parties, where they dance away the remembrance of their unfortunate country, and forget the miseries which "les amis des noirs" have brought upon them.

I should not like the gloss were past,
Yet want it not entirely new ;
But bright and strong enough to last
About-suppose a week or two.

However frail, however light,
"Twill do, at least, to wear at night:
And so you'll tell our black-eyed Caty-
The loving, languid girl of Hayti!

"Better lu 622 with Pope than there wille

"Errare malo cum Platone, quam cum aliis rectè sentire."

CICERO.

I would rather think wrongly with Plato, than rightly with
any one else.

FANNY, my love, we ne'er were sages,
But, trust me, all that Tully's zeal
Express'd for Plato's glowing pages,
All that, and more, for thee I feel!

Whate'er the heartless world decree,
Howe'er unfeeling prudes condemn,
Fanny! I'd rather sin with thee,

Than live and die a saint with them!

1802.

SONG.

I NE'ER on that lip for a minute have gazed,
But a thousand temptations beset me,

And I've thought, as the dear little rubies you raised,

How delicious 'twould be-if you'd let me!

Then be not so angry for what I have done,
Nor say that you've sworn to forget me;

They were buds of temptation too pouting to shun,
And I thought that-you could not but let me !

When your lip with a whisper came close to my cheek,

Oh think how bewitching it met me!

And, plain as the eye of a Venus could speak,
Your eye seem'd to say-you would let me!

Then forgive the transgression, and bid me remain,
For, in truth, if I go, you'll regret me;
Or, oh!-let me try the transgression again,
And I'll do all you wish-will you let me?

FROM THE GREEK.*

I've press'd her bosom oft and oft;
In spite of many a pouting check,
Have touch'd her lip in dalliance soft,
And play'd around her silvery neck.

But, as for more, the maid's so coy,

That saints or angels might have seen us; She's now for prudence, now for joy, Minerva half, and half a Venus.

When Venus makes her bless me near,
Why then, Minerva makes her loth;
And-oh the sweet, tormenting dear!

She makes me mad between them both!

Μαζές χερσιν εχώ, στοματι στομα, δε περι δειρην Ασχετα λυσσωων βοσκομαι αργυρέην

Ούπω δ' αφρογενειαν όλην ἷλον· αλλ' ετι καμνων

Παρθενον αμφιεπον λέπρον αναινομενην.

Ήμισυ γαρ Παφίη, το δ' αρ ημισυ δώκεν Αθήνη

Αυταρ εγω μεσσος τηκομαι αμφοτερων.

PAULUS SILENTIARIUS.

Ί