my eyes fell upon the servile population of the American Archipelago. There were sown the seeds of a more extensive and total revolution; but while the fermentation was going on, and just on the point of exploding, I called to mind the southern section of my own country, and started from my seat to warn my countrymen of their danger. In an instant, the cloud reappeared and covered the left of the field. I heard the rustling of the wings of time, and on turning, discovered that he stood with his scythe (which I had not before observed) raised in the act of cutting me off. My efforts to escape the impending blow disturbed my slumbers, and I found myself still sitting in my summer-house. The field of history, and the veil of futurity, had disappeared, and I saw nothing but the majestic Hudson placidly flowing through the fertile valley above the Highlands. Time, however, had been busy, for upon entering the house, I found that the family had gone to bed, and left me, supperless, to follow their example.

HORACE, BOOK III. CARM. 6.

O Rome! for faults ancestral, not our own,
In tears and blood thy children must atone!
For many a desolate temple, mouldering fane,
And dedicated shrine, black with unseemly smoke:
When thou didst bear thine honours vast, less vain,
As holden from the gods, began thy reign,

With their neglected rites, behold thy sceptre broke.

Behold, on sad Hesperia, at their will,
Descends the accumulated weight of ill!
Our legions twice the Parthian hath o'ercome,
And back repelled the assault, with no good omens made;
Proud of his trophies, haste the victors home,
Hung with the spoils of once imperial Rome,

On their barbaric rings, glittering with new parade.

Fierce on the state, torn with intestine feud,
The Dacian urges, and the Ethiop rude;

This with huge navies scours the groaning main;
And this obscures the sky, hurtling his arrowy cloud;
Ages, in crimes prolific, with the stain

Of unchaste nuptials, first defiled the vein

Of ancient blood and race, and names once high and proud.

From this base fountain, ruin,, like a flood,
O'erwhelms our country and her sons with blood,
And luxury o'er the manners rules supreme;
The girl must learn to tread the soft Ionian measure,
And wind to wanton sounds the pliant limb,
In each voluptuous poise; and the first dream,
Of her most tender years, roves to unlicensed pleasure.

A matron now, her young gallants she seeks,

What time her lord with drunken wassail reeks;
Nor choice of suitors, will her gifts withhold

Till night, but even before her conscious spouse will rise,—
Called by the factor, or the captain bold

Of Spanish ship,—to whom her charms are sold
Dearly; at any price, her shame the witling buys.

Not from such parents sprung the youthful brave,
Who dyed with Afric's reddest blood the wave,
Pyrrhus and great Antiochus overthrew,

And the dread Hannibal, whom not the Alps could stay;
But men, to rustic soldiers born, who grew

From labour strong, and well obedience knew,
Taught by the matron stern of undisputed sway;

Who, when the livelong day, they'd plied their toil,
Turning with Sabine spades, the cumbrous soil,
Bade them huge billets hew and faggots bind,

Though then the mountains cast their lenghthening shadows far,
While the sun set their burnished steeps behind,

And the tired steer the weary yoke resigned,

And the sweet hour of rest came with the sinking ear.

O Time! destroying with each passing hour!
What good escapes thy slow consuming power?
Each age beholds a more degenerate race ;---

Worse than our grandsires' proved our father's darkening day;
They left a generation yet more base,

And we, to swell the annals of disgrace,

Beget a progeny, of every vice the prey.

BOOK III. CARM. 13.

Blandusian font! whose glassy stream
Still gushes ever bright and clear!
To thee the mantling bowl, I deem,
With flowers, the fairest of the

year,
Crowned gayly, often should be poured,
And with due rites thy nymph adored.

And on the morn, to thee shall fall

A kid, whose horns are budding newly;
Who dreams of many a love, and all
Maintained in noble conflict duly;
But with thy basin's mirror bright,
Shall his red-flowing blood unite.

The raging dogstar's sultry heat

Can pierce not in thy loved recess,
When oft the herds delighted meet,
And thy refreshing coolness bless.
The steer forgets his cumbrous share,
And still the wandering sheep come there.

With classic fountains shall thou vie,
If not in vain thy poet sings;

Nor be the oak forgot, that high

Above the rocks o'cr-arching springs;
From whence thy sparkling waters fall,
Welling with murmurs musical.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

Pale melancholy star! who shed'st thy beams
So mildly on my brow, pure as the tear
A pitying angel sheds o'er earthly sorrow.
I love to sit by thy sweet light, and yield

My heart to its strange musings, wayward dreams
Of things inscrutable, and soaring thoughts,
That would aspire to dwell in yon high sphere.
I love to think that thou art a bright world
Where bliss and beauty dwell-where never sin
Has entered, to destroy the brightest joys
Of its pure holy habitants. "Tis sweet
To fancy such a quiet, peaceful home,
All innocence and purity, and love.

There the first sire still dwells, with all his race;
From his loved eldest born, to the sweet babe
Of yesterday. There gentle maids are seen,
Fair as the sun, with all that tenderness,
So sweet in woman, and soft eyes that beam
Pure ardent love, but free from passion's stain.
There all have high communion with their God,
And tho' the fruit of knowledge is not pluck'd,
Yet doth its fragrance breathe on all around.
Oh! what can knowledge give to recompense
The happy ignorance it cost? Man lost

His Heaven to gain it. What was his reward?

Sweet Star! can those in thy bright sphere behold Our fallen world?-do they not weep to see

Our blighting sorrow? and do they not veil

Their brows in shame, to see Heaven's choicest gifts Profaned by maddening passions?

Surely this world is now as beautiful

As 'twas in earliest prime ;-the earth still blooms With flowers and brilliant verdure,—the dark trees Are thick with foliage, and the mountains tower

In proud sublimity: the waters glide

All smoothly o'er the flower-enamelled mead,
Or dash o'er broken cliffs, flinging their spray

In high fantastic whirls. Surely 'tis fair
As it could before the wasting flood

Had whelmed it. Go ye forth and gaze upon
The face of nature all is peaceful there;

:

And yet a strange, sad feeling strikes the heart.

Soon man will tread these too-cities will rise

Where now the wild bird sings: thousands will dwell Where all is loneliness; but will it be

More beautiful? No! where the wild flowers spring ; Where nought but the bird's note is heard, we may

Find friends in every leaf. Each simple flower
Speaks to the heart, and fills it with the sweet,
Soft tenderness of childhood; but vain man
Makes it a peopled wilderness. The blight
Of disappointment and distrust is found,
Wherever man has made his troubled home;
And the most fearful desert is the spot
Where he best loves to dwell.

Oh! let me hope while gazing on thy light,
Sweet Star! that yet a peaceful home is left,
For those sad spirits who have found this world
All sin and sorrow-haply in thy sphere

I yet may dwell, when cleansed from all the stains
Of passions that too darkly dwell within

This throbbing heart. Oh! had I early died,
I might have been a pure and sinless child
In some sweet planet; and my only toil
To light my censer by the sun's bright rays,
And fling its fire forever towards the throne
Of the Eternal One! Now I am doomed
To painful suffering. All my hours of joy
Were long since spent, and nought is left me now
But a wild waste of sorrow!
Be it so !

I.

SPRING.

Hail fairest of the circling year!
Oh! lend sweet spring a list'ning ear!
From the winds thy healthful throne,
Breathe o'er the lyre a cheering tone;
Now briskly swelling from the west,
Let the soft breeze the harp invest;
The gentle south wind lend its aid,
And musick soft the strings pervade ;
The ruthless north and eastern quire,
Forbid to strike the feeble lyre:
For milder gales demands the spring,
And winter's not the theme I sing.

Now melt the ice and frozen chains
Of winter, by the vernal rains.
The swelling streamlets o'er the steep
Bounding, in sparkling torrents leap;
The seas with ships and navies groan,
By breezes borne to either zone;
The city from the rising sun,
'Till evening twilight has begun,
Echoes with sound of artizan,
And all the busy hum of man.

Oe'r arid plains with hopeful toil,
The farmer irrigates the soil :

The gentle ox, with patient load,
Advances, 'neath the ploughman's goad;

1

While o'er the fields, and gay parterre,
The flowrets sweet perfume the air;
The cypress shoots its flowers above,
And reigns the empress of the grove;
The fair magnolia decks the glade
In richest livery arrayed;

The sweet briar scents the breath of night,

And every plant inspires delight.
No more old winter's iron sway,
Will nature or the year obey;
The gentle spring ascends her throne,
And liberty is heard alone!-
In dark and pensive solitude,
By winding streams, or lonely wood;
Or near men's quiet still retreats,
The robin's note the morning greets;
The lark and blue-bird with him vie,
In plaintive notes and melody;
While in the silent, shady grove,
The thresher tunes his song of love;
And when his middle course the sun,
With fiery steeds and wheels, has run,
The bunting, in his upward flight,
Pours out his music of delight.

When evening steals with silent tread,
And hastes her mantle round to spread ;
When Luna rules the pensive hour,
And Phoebus abdicates his power,
The night-hawk mounts his car on high,
And soars sublimely to the sky;
Then in his rapid course descends,
And with his wings the whirlwind rends
Ascending next with gentler flight,
He claims the empire of the night.

Now o'er the flowery meads of May,
The fire-fly trims his watch-light gay;
While every herb with falling dew
At evening tide is bathed anew.

Oh! nature, here the muse would rest!
Thy beauties are alone expressed

In these thy scenes, where summer gales,
With waving corn and blooming vales,
And autumn with her golden horn,
Pouring fruits and ripened corn,
And winter with her tyrant king,
Yield the palm to gentle spring!