Ah say, why fades thy rose so soon,

While yet so perfum'd is its breath?
Why are its dew-drops drunk ere noon?

Ere eve why sinks thy flow'r in death?

I drank thy cup; thy wreath I wore;

The dregs remain-the flow'rs have faded:
Oh ne'er can future joys restore
The peace by recollection shaded.

KAIS.

FRAGMENTS OF OLD ENGLISH POETRY.

TO THE WATER NYMPHS, DRINKING AT THE FOUNTAIN.

Reach, with your whiter hands, to me

Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see

Fresh lilies flourishing.

Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this

To the glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss

The water turn'd to wine.

TO ELECTRA.

I dare not ask a kiss,

I dare not beg a smile,
Lest, having that or this,

I might grow proud the while.
No, no; the utmost share

Of my desire shall be
Only to kiss that air

That lately kissed thee.

WHAT KIND OF MISTRESS HE WOULD HAVL.

Be the mistress of my choice
Plain in manners, clear in voice;
Be she witty, more than wise,
Pure enough, though not precise;

Be she showing in her dress,
Like'a civil wilderness,
That the curious

may

detect
Order in a sweet neglect;
Be she rolling in her eye,
Tempting all the passers-by,
And each ringlet of her hair
An enchantment, or a snare,
For to catch the lookers-on,
But herself held fast by none;
Let her Lucrece all day be,
Thais in the night to me;
Be she such as neither will
Famish me, nor overfill.

1

Ask me, why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break
I will answer-these discover
What fainting hopes are in a lover.

UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILLED WITH DEW
Dew sat on Julia's hair,

And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are

With trembling dew;
Or glitter'd to my sight,

As when the beams
Have their reflected light

Danc'd by the streams.

UPON HIS DEPARTURE HENCEA

Thus I
Pass by
And die,
As one
Unknown
And gone;
I'm made
A shade
And laid
['th' grave;
There have
My cave,
Where well
I dwell,
Farewel!

TO HIS VERSES.

What will ye, my poor orphans, do
When I must leave the world and you?
Who'll give you then a shelt'ring shed,
Or credit ye, when I am dead?
Who'll let ye by their fireside sit,

Although ye have a stock of wit,
Already coin'd, to pay for it?
I cannot tell; unless there be .
Some race of old humanity
Left (of the large heart and long hand)
Alive, as noble Westmoreland,
Or gallant Newark, which brave two
May fost'ring fathers be to you.
If not, expect to be no less
Ill us'd than babes left fatherless.

AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. It may be doubted whether any work hitherto published in America has brought to the literature of the country a larger accession of utility and elegance, and consequently of credit, than the selection made by Doctor CHAPMAN from the parliamentary and forensic eloquence of the illustrious orators of Great Britain and Ireland.

It has been, for many years, a subject of deep regret to the learned men of those parts of the world in which the English language is spoken, that of the mass of eloquence which placed the orators of the British islands in an advantageous comparison with the greatest of Greece or Rome, so very little should have been transmitted to the present times. Till the reporting of public debates became a special calling in the hands of men of learning and ingenuity, the speeches of the greatest orators scarcely survived the day of their delivery, and, having served the fugitive purpose of the argument to which they were applied, were for ever lost to the world in no degree known to any but those who heard them, and by those even forgotten in a few days, and buried in the general miscellany of thought and action. Hence it is that, while we hear their cotemporaries speak in wonder and enthusiastic rapture of the powers of a Flood, a Burgh, a Hutchinson, and, above all, of Anthony Malone, we can scarcely find a relic of the speeches of these great men sufficient to impart the remotest idea of what their style of eloquence was. Of the last of them there is not a vestige left, while the evidence of his superiority to all other men is so complete as to supersede every doubt upon the subject. What Betterton in his day, and Garrick since, were in acting, Malone

was in oratory: for, when an orator, in England or Ireland, was said to be best, it was still understood to be with the exception of Malone:* like those great actors, too, his genius has left no mark behind it.

Passion's wild break, and frown that awes the sense,
And all the charms of gentle eloquence,
All perishable!-like the electric fire,
But strike the frame, and, as they strike, expire!
Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear;
Its fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air.

It is indeed to be lamented that Ireland, to which envy itself is compelled to allow the palm of eloquence, has been still more negligent than her sister island in preserving the speeches of her orators. Had Burke or Sheridan wasted their eloquence at home, posterity would never be able to form a conception of those wonderful specimens of eloquence on which, in future ages, they will rapturously dwell in the compilation of Dr. Chapman.

Since debate-reporting became a trade, every speech of the smallest consequence, whether at the bar or in the senate, has had its fair chance of transmission to posterity. In its first and most imperfect state, it is presented to the public in a newspaper, where all ranks peruse and judge of it. If it possess not intrinsic merit to recommend it on its own account, when the subject on which it was spoken ceases to agitate the feelings and warp the opinions of the public, it is consigned “ to the monument of the Capulets;" but if it does, it is printed in a correct and perfect state, and with the authority and consent, perhaps with the corrections too, of the speaker, is given to the public in the form of a pamphlet.

Thus rescued from immediate oblivion, its preservation would still be rendered uncertain, by the diminutiveness of its size and the little importance annexed to such books, if it were left to shift for itself in the fugitive shape of a pamphlet. Hence it has too often happened that some of the most precious remains of eloquence that ever were published, after having had their day of admiration, are now lost, or overlooked, or perhaps exist only in the closet of some bookish churl, who thinks that its value would be lost if others were allowed to participate in it.

The plan of Dr. Chapman is a complete and satisfactory remedy for these evils: and the most splendid monuments of human genius,

* So said lords Hardwicke, Mansfield, and Camden.