Without revealing

Responsive feeling,

While Nature's voice Bid, Man rejoice?

IN YON LONE COT, THAT SKIRTS THE GLADE.

IN yon lone Cot, that skirts the glade,
Where Nature's charms prevail,
Once dwelt a fair unrivalled maid,
The Pride of all the Vale.

Her smile was like the gleam of dawn
On meads bedropped with dew,

Her form was like the bounding Fawn,-
Her heart as guiltless too!

And proudly the Parental Pair Beheld her cloudless brow,— But ah! the tempest of despair

Hath stained its lustre now!

Alas! to mock the trusting Maid,

A gilt-robed villain came,

With heartless guile her hopes betrayed,

And triumphed o'er shame!

And now where once young Beauty smiled,

And aged hearts would glow,

Glare the poor Maniac's glances wild,

And sounds the voice of Woe!

WAR SONG.

I.

HAIL to the Brave! and hail the Land!
Where Freedom's dauntless guardians stand.

An honored race, a glorious band,-
Or prompt to strike, or proud to die,-
Prepared for Death or Liberty!

II.

How hallowed is the Patriot's grave,
Who 'neath the banners Freemen wave,
With ready hand, and bosom brave,
Hath fought, and died as Heroes die,
In Battle, and for Liberty!

III.

How dear his proud immortal name
To Virtue, Liberty, and Fame;
Its magic sound the Land shall claim
For watch-word, and for battle-cry;
To lead the Brave to Victory!

IV.

Oh! who that Patriot honor warms, When sound the trumpet's wild alarms, That does not burn for deeds of arms, To bid his country's foemen fly,

And strike for Death or Liberty!

V.

The Victor's brow may proudly shine,
While Beauty's hands the wreath entwine,
But every noble heart's a shrine
For him who greatly dares to die
For glory and for Liberty!

LINES.

Composed at the tomb of a lovely, but unfortunate Female.

OH! mark this lonely spot,

Bestrewn with faded flowers,

Nor let its pensive grace be all forgot In happier hours!

This marble tablet bears

The simple record of a Child of Woe,
Whose memory is hallowed by the tears
Her fate hath caused to flow!

Oh! she was once as stainless as the snow

Along the lofty mountain's brow,

And now-she sleeps as motionless and cold! Alas! the tale is quickly told,

SHE LOVED AND FELL!

The dower of beauty is a prize too fair,

And unpreserved by talisman or spell!
Wild Love betrayed her to the ruthless Foe,
Who plunged her in the dungeons of Despair;
For he was one whose unrelenting heart
Ne'er moved at Sorrow's prayer,-
Who loved to boast the triumph of his art,
And mock the burning tear
His own unkindness taught to flow!

SONNET VI.

The voice profound

Of Gunga's rolling wave."

GUNGA is the Indian name for the river Ganges, which is worshipped as a goddess by the Hindoos. The banks of this celebrated stream, in the neighbourhood of populous villages, are continually thronged by persons offering their devotions to Gunga, or procuring water for domestic purposes. At Calcutta, Benares, and other large cities, there are handsome stone steps leading to the brink of the river, for the convenience of the natives. These have generally been built by religious or patriotic Hindoos residing on the spot. Many, however, have been the gifts of Rajahs, or wealthy individuals, living at a considerable distance. The donors have thereby gained, as they imagined, the good will of GUNGA, and the prayers of the innumerable Devotees, who resort to her sacred stream, for the performances of religious ceremonies. It is considered by the Brahmins to be a great misfortune to die at a distance from the Ganges; and expiring in its stream is believed, on the same authority, a security for eternal happiness. On these accounts, as soon as the patient's speedily-approaching death is foretold by the Physician, the lower part of his body is immersed in the

SONNET VIII.

"The winds are hushed, but yet the dark clouds lour."

THE tempests in India, during the rainy season, are frequently of a most formidable description. The following extract from a Journal which I kept of my little Indian adventures, though very hurriedly and carelessly written, may give the reader sorte idea of a Storm on the Ganges.

"I left Bandah* (from which place I was proceeding to Calcutta on leave of absence) with my wife and child, on the 14th of July, 1822, and arrived at Buzart on the evening of the 25th. This may be termed a long voyage, considering the great force of the stream in our favour. My sister-in-law, with her little daughter, were in another budgerow that accompanied

Bandah, in Bundelkund, is about 650 miles from

Calcutta.

† Buxar is 408 miles from Calcutta. A kind of pinnace.