He fought; and he conquér'd; to France nobly 
showing ; - 
How Britons can triumph, led on by Bal- 
: gowan! 
Whole legions were routed ; their confidence 
shaken 5 
Guns, banners, and gen’rals, and squadroms, 
é were taken; 
And those who escap’d, with a sigh, are 
bestowing 
The meed of renown on the troops of Bal- 
gowan ! 
In must’ring our force,when the battle is over, 
Affection bewails some Jost friend or fond 
lover; 
But Fame’s golden trumpet shall never cease 
blowing 
The names of the heroes who vied with Bal- 
fowan ! 
April, 1811. 
AN HUMBLE PETITION FOR A LOCK OF A 
YOUNG LADY’s HAIk. 
YE Sylphs and Sylphids, sportive throng, 
Who trip the flow’ry lawns among, 
Or wing the liquid air 5 
Ye, who direct the female heart, 
Exert for me your magic art, 
O deign'to aid my prayer! - 
T ask not that seductive mien, 
n Medicean Venus seen, 
To fix the raptur’d view ; 
I seek not titles, wealth, nor fame, 
‘One little Lock alone I claim, 
Of bright Circassian hue. 
‘We favourd Sylphs who guard the fairy 
Deck’d with this Hyacinthian hair, 
Let me hot sue in vain! 
For once avert vour watchful eyes, 
Whilst I, triumphant, seize a prize 
Kings might be proud to gain. 
% 
‘And shou’d the envious Fates decree, 
‘To punish my temerity, ; 
Like Scylla’s famed of old, 
Who, for the theft of Nisus’ hair, 
Was doom’d a bird to flit in air, 
As Poets oft have told. 
When I the feather’d form assume, 
Around the Nymph who caus*d my doom, 
Be this my task assign’d 5 
From every retrospective thought, 
With unavailing sorrow fraught, 
To shield her spotless mind. 
Then oft on dewy pinions borne, 
Pl call soft blushes from the morn, 
_ Vo deck th’ unconscious fair; 
~ And oft ambrosial sweets exhale, 
That float upon the boyant gale, 
To sprinkle o’er her hair, 
. That hair in which I'll fondly play, 
‘And frolic aff the live-long day, 
Nor envy gods above ; ' 
Original Poetry. we 
353 
For what can gods or mortals ask, 
More than the ever-pleasing task, 
To watch o’er those they love ? 
* Exmouth, March, 1811. 
——— 
ON THE REMAINS OF MARY VAN 
BUTCHELL, 
wee : 
Which were preserved in a new and wonderful 
manner, and worshipped daily by her survivi 
busband.—Translated ee fey bee. 
BAKER. 
HERE tombless, whole, untainted, lies 
Van Butchell’s dearest wife, 
A loving husband’s fond delight, 
And darling of his life. 
By fell disease, and ling’ring death, 
Whose body Jong consum’d, 
Has, in the charming form you see, 
The bloom of life resum’d. J - 
Great Hunter’s art, untri’d, improv’d, 
In vain doth nature strive, 
Can vile Corruption’s mould’ring hand 
Of all its power deprive. 
Oh! happy husband! to enjoy 
Her converse night and day, 
And sit beside a tender spouse, 
Not subject to decay. 
But what more wonderful appears, 
To sit beside a wife, 
That’s swetier, prettier, plumper t20y 
And juicier than in life! 
Oh! happy, enviable man, 
Thy lot how new and strange, 
To have a woman still the same, 
Nor liable to change! 
— 
TO THE MEMORY oF ELIZABE Tse 
COUNTESS DOWAGER OF CAVAN. 
_ By Miss HOLFORD, 
T° Time’s deep gulph departs another day, 
But silent Sorrow marks it gliding by, 
Memory with straining eye-ball tracks its 
Way, 
And Friendship notes it with a heart-born 
sigh ! 
Why should we weep? In yonder azure skies 
That Cavan'’s spirit mingles with the blest? 
No! chace the selfish sorrow from your eyes, 
And hush the turbid heavings of your 
breast’! 
Yet, never Cavan, never soul like thine, 
Unwept departed on its high careers 
Nor shall thy spirit quit its mouldering shrine, 
And iiss its tribute bright, a human tear. 
Alas! the tear unseen, unheard the strain, > 
The marnvuring mortal strain, to frailty 
given! 
Our weak complaining follows thee in vain, 
For even Friendship’s cries invade not 
Heaven! 
Go 
