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Their hearts fhall feel,

Shall e'er wrest from your sons.
(True as their maidens, polifh'd as their steel,)
A gen'rous passion,-something more than name,
A Scotsman's friendship is a noble flame :

Tho' for each other's woe their hearts shall melt,
Too proud to think that for themselves they felt.
Then far in Fate's dark womb to human ken,
Though as to-morrow, to the God of men,
He hail'd the day, when under salleges sway,
These firm united, long fhould both one law obey."

Annas.

Q. D. C.

A SONG.

WHEN clouds that angel face deform,
Anxious I view the growing storm;
When angry lightnings arm thine eye,
And tell the gath'ring tempest's nigh,
I curse the sex, and bid adieu
To female friendship, love, and you.

But when soft pafsions rule your breast,
And each kind look some Love has drest ;
When cloudlefs smiles around you play,
And give the world a holiday,

I blest the hour when first I knew
Dear female friendship, love, and you.

GLEANINGS OF ANCIENT POETRY.

TO THE SPRING, BY DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.

SWEET

WEET spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodlie traine,
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs;
The zephyres curle the greene lockes of the plaine,

The cloudes for joy in pearles weepe down their fhow'rs.
Thou turn'st, (sweet youth!) but Äh my pleasant howres,
And happie dayes, with thee come not againe ;

The sad memorialls only of my paine

Doe with thee turne, which turne my sweets in sow'rs.
Thou art the same, which still thou was before,

Delicious, wanton, amiable, faire,

But thee, whose breath embaulmed thy wholesome aire,
Is gone: nor go'd, nor gemmes her can restore.

Neglected vertue, seasons goe and come,
While thine forgot lie closed in a tombe,

NORTHERN FISHERMAN, A TALE.

For the

Wouldst thou, my prince, inform thyself of the situation of thy people, that thou mayest redress their grievances, and promote their welfare, consult not the wealthy merchants of Damascus, nor the proud lords of landed inheritance; but turn thine eyes into the shop of the humble mechanic, the cottage of the industrious peasant, and the village of the laborious fisherman.

CONTES ARABES.

WILLIAM was a young fisherman, in a small sea port town on the frith of Forth in Scotland ;-he had been brought up from his infancy by his industrious parents, in the constant exercise of his laborious profession; and, while a boy, if any intermifsion took place in the fishing through the rigour of the season, the opportunity was embraced by the anxious old man, in sending William to school, that he might be instructed in the useful sciences of writing and arithmetic, and in the duties of Christianity. When William grew up, his personal accomplishments surpassed those of almost all the young men in the village. He was handsome and robust, and possessed a vigorous understanding; he was always foremost in every interprize wherein the exertions of strength and activity were called forth in the prosecution of the fishery. When a ship should happen to be in distress in the neighbourhood, on which occasions the honest fishers were always wont to risk their lives, and their little property, in the relief of the unfortunate crew, William was usually the first in launching out his little boat, and prompting his fellow watermen to venture upon the waves, and carry the necessary assistance to the worn out sailors. Thus was he beloved by all the inhabitants of the village,

March 13 and by his well directed industry relieved his old parents from a great part of the toils by which they had gained their livelihood, and educated this promising youth.

Whilst William was living in this happy and contentful situation, he married, at the age of twenty-two, Betsy, a young villager, who had been his intimate friend from her infancy, and who fhone no lefs than him in her beauty of person, and excellence of character. They loved each other pafsionately, and knew each other so well before their union, that that circumstance made no change on their affections, but rendered their happiness still more complete than before.

The young couple had been blefsed in the possession of each other four months, when one day William was engaged to pilot a ship down to the island of May. The day was fine, and the wind was fair. Betsy had, with her usual attention, a refreshing supper prepared for her husband, whom the expected to arrive in the evening, fatigued with the labours of the day; and to be as usual cheered with her kindness, and her simple song. She went at eight to the green on the fhore of the sea; and whilst she sat knitting a stocking, fatigued her eyes with incefsant gazing towards the eastward. Every speck fhe saw

on the distant waters, the fondly imagined to be the little sail of William's boat; fhe anxiously watched every fhip that cast anchor in the road, in expectation of seeing the slender bark launched from it, and row towards her. Thus did Betsy sit, masing, and watching till the sun had almost withdrawn his kindly rays.-Her uneasinefs began to be inexpressible. She arose, and went home, hoping that her wished-for mate might have come over-land, and be waiting for her in her little cabin; but in vain; there was no William there. In sad uneasiness the spent the few hours of a summer night, now thinking of one thing

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that might have retarded his return, now of another ; hoping for the best, and fearing for the worst; when at the early dawn, she was terrified by the hoarse bawlings of sailors, the flashing of oars in the smooth harbour, and most terrible of all, the screamings of her female acquainShe started from her lonely chair, (for in bed fhe had not been,) ran to the street, and there the first object that met her anxious eyes, was Jack, her husband's most intimate friend, dragged along by two armed ruffians. "Almighty heaven! (exclaimed fhe,) what are you doing? What has Jack been guilty of? where do you drag him ?"

tance.

To serve the king, and be damned to you!' was the sullen answer; and the forlorn Betsy saw, while the unavailing tears burst heavily from her eyes, her husband's partner bound, beat, thrown into the boat, and borne away. Sadly then did Betsy sigh, sadly did fhe weep, and bitterly did the lament the cruel fate that tore her William from her, and threw him into bondage; but unavailing were her sighs, and unheard were her complaints, and those of many a widowed wife, helpless child, and comfortless parent in that thriving village. The prime of the place, the noble youths were all borne away,-perhaps

never to return.

A sad reverse of fortune, now rent the heart of poor Betsy. The little money fhe had, could but for a fhort time support her gray haired father-in-law, and herself; and the means of her former fruitful industry. were now taken away, when the aid of her dear William was no more; but he and, fhe were so much loved by many people in the neighbouring city, that she received afsistance from them; and her misery was not so great as that of many of the other village wives, who had no such resource. But nothing could console her for the lofs of William; and often, for some days, with forced

March 13 hopes, would the exult at the pofsibility of his having es caped the iron hand of the impress, and make his appearance in disguise; but days and weeks passed away, and William appeared not. At length the following letter, brought, though a mournful comfort, a relief to her anxious suspence.

MY DEAREST BESS,

Portsmouth, 20th of June.

You know I went on board the Trader, to pilot her down to the May. When I was coming up with Tom Rufsel and Bob Hughs in the boat with me, we were all pressed, and so brought here in the Champion frigate. As I seed I could not get off, so I bethought myself that it was for the best to enter; but they are talking of there being no war; so hopes we will soon be paid off again. In the mean time, I am in good health, and would be in good spirits, if it were not for thinking of you my dear. my dear you will write to me, to the care of captain Gun, of the Thunder frigate, with which I am entered; and you will do it soon, lest we should be gone from here, So remain my dear yours until death.

WILLIAM SMITH.

Betsy then began to be resigned to her fate, and was daily in hopes of the imprefs ceasing, and the sailors being discharged. Thus pafsed six months, at the end of which he was delivered of a fine male child. Soon after her recovery, fhe heard the agreeable news of the preparations for war being at an end; and received a letter from Willam that he was paid off at Portsmouth, and had taken his pafsage in a fhip round to the Thames, from whence he was to come down to Leith in one of the London traders. Betsy was now quite overjoyed; her good spirits made her take still greater delight in caref sing her little infant, in whose face she already perceived its father's likeness; and the rejoiced in anticipating

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