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There let him stray, indulging serious thought,
And let him, when in nature's book he reads,
Think on the winter drear that's with death brought,
And on the spring eternal that succeeds.
Banks of Etrick,

March 29. 1793.


For the Bee.

I FAIN would strike a louder string,
Of arms and martial feats would sing;
How Wolf subdued the Gallic pride,
And like the conqu'ring Theban died.
How foremost in the ranks of war,
The sword of Scotland flam'd afar;
Dealt wild destruction to the foe,
And laid the howling Indian low:
From Pindus', from Castalia's streams,
Deep read in forms, and learn'd in names;
I bid the muse ascend sublime,

And build the everlasting rhime;

But forms and long learn'd words are vain,
Harsh and uncouth the stubborn strain;
But when I sing the pow'r of love,
Soft melody delights the grove;
Fragrant blooming flow'rs arise,
Breathing incense to the skies;
Soft as evening zephyrs blow,
The ambling easy numbers flow;
And by this proof convinc'd I see,
O love I have no muse but thee!


For the Bee:


As he who wand'ring o'er the dreary waste
Of parch'd Arabia's wide extended plains,
At the black clouds that bode the coming blast,
Appal'd, feels sudden horror freeze his veins.
Should he, perchance, descry some happier isle,
Where all is peace the howling blasts among,
Hies him where painted landscapes ever smile,
List'ning with rapture to the woodland song.
Such is thy voice, O friendship! to his soul

A. L.

Who long has wander'd in affliction's way, Who, while misfortune's clouds around him roll, Has watch'd in vain sweet pleasure's tardy ray; Thy heavenly voice can ev'ry charm restore, Dispels misfortune's gloom, and bids him sigh no more. ASCANIUS ALTER.


In the twelfth century lived one of those titled barbarians who prided themselves in that prerogative of impunity which was one of the characteristics of the feudal government, and which was indeed quite worthy of such a system. The sole delight of this haughty baron seemed to be in frequent and capricious displays of savage despotism. He was continually conceiving the most absurd ideas of amusement; and his gothic imagination ever selected that which bordered most on the ferociousness of credulity. To a brutal rage for singularity, like this, we may doubtlefs trace the origin of those whimsical services that were appendant to our ancient fiefs, and which the enlightened legislatures of modern times ought universally to eradicate.

Our baron was happy in all those extravagant freaks in which high birth and unbounded riches could enable him to indulge. An only daughter he had, named Genevieve, whom the chronicles of those times have handed down to us as a paragon of beauty. It may be imagined, in course, that a crowd of rivals contended for the honour and happiness of her hand. Nor can we suppose the peerlefs Genevieve herself unsusceptible of the tender pafsion. Baldwin, a young chevalier in the neighbourhood, had certainly no reason to doubt it. Amiable he was, and amiable did he appear in the eyes of the charming maid.

Ardent and reciprocal was the passion they cherished. His, however, the young chevalier studiously concealed from every eye. His patrimony was too slender to encourage aspiring hopes, and in conjugal alliances does in

terest too often preside with fatal sway.-Through no other medium did the father of Genevieve view her lover. To a thousand exalted qualities, the liberal gifts of nature, he was totally insensible.

Baldwin was convinced then, that he never could be the husband of the beautiful Genevieve. But does love ever reason? He listens-he attends only to the tender sentiment, and no obstacle does that sentiment perceive. Has love then sufficient resources in himself ?—Every day the tenderness of the two lovers increased; and increasing it seemed to become irresistible.

The baron is not long unacquainted with their mutual passion. He surprises the young chevalier with his daughter. He could perceive the ingenuous frankness of modesty in the one, with ardour and inexpressible extacy in the other. In the first suggestions of fury, he would have sacrificed Baldwin to immediate vengeance. Genevieve throws herself at her father's feet; she bedews them with her tears; "I will not survive him! (cries the beauteous maid :) save him, my father hurt him not, or I die with him-I perish on the spot!"—The old baron was not unaffected by her tears; yet still his savage temper had the ascendant. Pointing to a hill near his castle, "Young man, (said he,) you have been presumptuous enough to think one moment of my daughter. Nevertheless she fhall be your wife, if you will carry her, without stopping, to the top of yonder hill; but the least repose fhall cost you the prize."-The chevalier does not suffer him to finish. He flies to his mistrefs, takes her in his arms, and runs towards the hill, exclaiming, "You fhall be mine! you fhall be mine !"-A crowd of vafsals afsisted at a scene that was at once so barbarous and so singu lar.

Love has very justly been painted with a bandage over his eyes. Baldwin, in the excefsive ardour of his pafsion, had not perceived the extreme difficulty of his undertaking. His eyes,-his whole soul was fixed upon Genevieve.

He ascended the hill with inconceivable swiftnefs; he had wings; he felt the heart of his mistress palpitate against .his own. "I tremble, my dear friend! (said the,) you will not reach, you will not reach the top;moderate your impetuosity."

"Fear nothing,fear nothing, my adorable Genevieve! You know not the power of love. I could reach, I could gain the fkies!"

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The whole afsembly utter vows to heaven for the amiable pair. In a thousand ways they exprefs their encouraging approbation. But the lover's strength begins to fail-he perceives it himself. My dear, dear Genevieve! speak to me; repeat to me, repeat that you love me. Fix your eyes on mine,-yes! I fhall feel more than mortal powers-you revive me-you' strengthen me again."

Nature, however, abandons him. Love is now his only support, and what cannot love atchieve? Baldwin now looks toward the summit of the hill, and measures it with his eyes, which he had not done before.

"Ah! is it not very high?" said his (terrified mistrefs.

"I fhall reach it--I shall reach it.”

How justly has it been observed that love is capable of performing miracles! Baldwin, indeed, was no longer a man. It was the genius of love that triumphed over insurmountable obstacles. The cries of the spectators resounded on every side. They trembled, they mounted, they panted with the young chevalier, who was now intently

April 10, regarding the summit, as the period of his efforts. The admiring multitude did not fail to observe all his motions. They saw every member working, struggling, vanquishing fatigue. Genevieve, the beauteous Genevieve! was weeping.


At length, the happy chevalier gains the height. He instantly sinks with his precious burden on the earth, which he seems to embrace as the monument of his victory. A man of letters would here mention Cæsar, who embraced the earth in like manner; "and for an object of far lefs consequence," would add some enamoured loAcclamations of joy arise, "Baldwin is victorBaldwin has gained the prize!" My friend, my beloved! (exclaims Genevieve,) will now be my husband." She threw herself on his bosom-fhe lavishes the most tender exprefsions; her lover answers nothis eyes are closed-he is motionless: "Oh! heavens! (cries Genevieve,) "he is dead-Baldwin, my Baldwin is dead!"

The young conqueror had sunk under his fatigue. "He is dead, he his dead!" mournfully pafsed from mouth to mouth. Consternation is visible in every The eyes, the looks of all are fixed on the

countenance. fatal summit.

Her kisses, her tears realmost lifeless eye: with

Genevieve, weeping, prefses her lover to her bosom ; fhe strives to recall him to life. vive the chevalier; he opens an a faultering voice he can only utter, "I die, Genevieve.--Let them give me at least the name of thy husband on my tomb; the sweet idea consoles me; Oh! my only love, receive my last sigh."

The spectators, who did not a moment lose sight of Genevieve, had been restored with her to hope. They had easily understood that Baldwin had revived. They

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