A voice replied. No enemies we come, But crave admittance in an humble tone.

The Spartan answers. Through the midnight shade

What purpose draws your wand'ring steps abroad? To whom the stranger. We are friends to

Greece.

Through thy assistance we implore access
To Lacedemon's king. The cautious Greek
Still hesitates; when musically sweet
A tender voice his wond'ring ear allures.

O gen'rous warrior, listen to the pray'r
Of one distress'd, whom grief alone hath led
Through midnight shades to these victorious tents,
A wretched woman, innocent of fraud.

The chief, descending, through th' unfolded gates

Upheld a flaming torch. The light disclosed
One first in servile garments. Near his side
A woman graceful and majestic stood,
Not with an aspect, rivalling the pow'r
Of fatal Helen, or th' ensnaring charms
Of love's soft queen, by such as far surpass'd
Whate'er the lily, blending with the rose,
Spreads on the cheek of beauty soon to fade;
Such as express'd a mind by wisdom ruled,
By sweetness temper'd; virtue's purest light
Illumining the countenance divine:

Yet could not soften rig'rous fate, nor charm
Malignant fortune to revere the good;
Which oft with anguish rends a spotless heart,
And oft associates wisdom with despair.
In courteous phrase began the chief humane.
Exalted fair, whose form adorns the night,
Forbear to blame the vigilance of war.
My slow compliance, to the rigid laws
Of Mars impute. In me no longer pause
Shall from the presence of our king withhold
This thy apparent dignity and worth.
Here ending, he conducts her. At the call
Of his loved brother, from his couch arose
Leonidas. In wonder he survey'd
Th' illustrious virgin, whom his presence awed.
Her eye submissive to the ground declined
In veneration of the godlike man.

His mien, his voice, her anxious dread dispel,
Benevolent and hospitable thus.

Thy looks, fair stranger, amiable and great,
A mind delineate, which from all commands
Supreme regard. Relate, thou noble dame,
By what relentless destiny compell'd,
Thy tender feet the paths of darkness tread;
Rehearse th' afflictions whence thy virtue mourns.
On her wan cheek a sudden blush arose
Like day, first dawning on the twilight pale;
When, wrapt in grief, these words a passage found.
If to be most unhappy, and to know
That hope is irrecoverably fled;
If to be great and wretched may deserve
Commiseration from the brave; behold,
Thou glorious leader of unconquer'd bands,
Behold, descended from Darius' loins,
The afflicted Ariana; and my pray'r
Accept with pity, nor my tears disdain.
First, that I loved the best of human race,

Heroic, wise, adorn'd by every art,

Of shame unconscious doth my heart reveal.
This day, in Grecian arms conspicuous clad,
He fought, he fell. A passion, long conceal'd,
For me, alas! within my brother's arms,
His dying breath resigning, he disclosed.
Oh! I will stay my sorrows! will forbid
My eyes to stream before thee, and my breast,
O'erwhelm'd by anguish, will from sighs restrain!
For why should thy humanity be grieved
At my distress? why learn from me to mourn
The lot of mortals doom'd to pain and woe.
Hear then, O king, and grant my sole request,
To seek his body in the heaps of slain.

Thus to the hero sued the royal maid,
Resembling Ceres in majestic woe,
When supplicating Jove, from Stygian gloom,
And Pluto's black embraces, to redeem
Her loved and lost Proserpina. A while
On Ariana fixing stedfast eyes,
These tender thoughts Leonidas recall'd.

Such are thy sorrows, oh for ever dear,
Who now at Lacedæmon dost deplore
My everlasting absence. Then aside
He turn'd and sigh'd. Recov'ring, he address'd
His brother. Most beneficent of men,
Attend, assist this princess. Night retires
Before the purple-winged morn. A band
Is call'd. The well-remember'd spot they find,
Where Teribazus from his dying hand
Dropt in their sight his formidable sword.
Soon from beneath a pile of Asian dead
They draw the hero, by his armour known.
Then, Ariana, what transcending pangs
Were thine! what horrors! In thy tender breast
Love still was mightiest. On the bosom cold
Of Teribazus, grief-distracted maid, [hue
Thy beauteous limbs were thrown. Thy snowy
The clotted gore disfigured. On his wounds
Loose flow'd thy hair; and, bubbling from thy eyes,
Impetuous sorrow laved th' empurpled clay.

*

*

*

*

Then, with no trembling hand, no change of

look,

She drew a poniard, which her garment veil'd;
And instant sheathing in her heart the blade,
On her slain lover silent sunk in death.
The unexpected stroke prevents the care
Of Agis, pierced by horror and distress,
Like one, who, standing on a stormy beach,
Beholds a found'ring vessel, by the deep
At once engulf'd; his pity feels and mourns,
Deprived of pow'r to save: so Agis view'd
The prostrate pair. He dropp'd a tear, and thus

Oh! much lamented! Heavy on your heads
Hath evil fall'n, which o'er your pale remains
Commands this sorrow from a stranger's eye.
Illustrious ruins! May the grave impart
That peace which life denied! and now receive
This pious office from a hand unknown.

He spake, unclasping from his shoulders broad His ample robe. He strew'd the waving folds O'er each wan visage; turning then address'd The slave, in mute dejection standing near.

Thou, who, attendant on this hapless fair,

Th' eternal guardian of illustrious deeds,
The sweet Phoebean lyre. Her graceful train
Of white-robed virgins, seated on a range
Half down the cliff, o'ershadowing the Greeks,
All with concordant strings, and accents clear,
A torrent pour of melody, and swell

A high, triumphal, solemn dirge of praise,
Anticipating fame. Of endless joys

In bless'd Elysium was the song. Go, meet
Lycurgus, Solon, and Zaleucus sage,
Let them salute the children of their laws.
Meet Homer, Orpheus and th' Ascræan bard,
Who with a spirit, by ambrosial food
Refined, and more exalted, shall contend
Your splendid fate to warble through the bow'rs
Of amaranth and myrtle ever young,
Like your renown. Your ashes we will cull.
In yonder fane deposited, your urns,
Dear to the Muses, shall our lays inspire.
Whatever off'ring, genius, science, art
Can dedicate to virtue, shall be yours,
The gifts of all the Muses, to transmit
You on th' enliven'd canvas, marble, brass,
In wisdom's volume, in the poet's song,
In every tongue, through every age and clime,
You of this earth the brightest flow'rs, not cropt,
Transplanted only to immortal bloom

Of praise with men, of happiness with gods.

ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.

ON THE TAKING OF PORTO-BELLO FROM THE SPANIARDS BY ADMIRAL VERNON. Nov. 22, 1739.

As near Porto-Bello lying

On the gently swelling flood,
At midnight with streamers flying,

Our triumphant navy rode;

[* The case of Hosier, which is here so pathetically represented, was briefly this. In April 1726 that commander was sent with a strong fleet into the Spanish West Indies, to block up the galleons in the ports of that country, or, should they presume to come out, to seize and carry them into England; he accordingly arrived at the Bastimentoes near Porto-Bello, but being employed rather to overawe than to attack the Spaniards, with whom it was probably not our interest to go to war, he conti

There while Vernon sat all-glorious

From the Spaniards' late defeat; And his crews, with shouts victorious, Drank success to England's fleet:

On a sudden, shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;
Then each heart with fear confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear'd,
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for winding sheets they wore,
And with looks by sorrow clouded,
Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre,
When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bands were seen to muster,
Rising from their wat❜ry grave:
O'er the glimm'ring wave he hied him,
Where the Burford† rear'd her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,
And in groans did Vernon hail.

"Heed, oh heed, our fatal story,
I am Hosier's injured ghost,
You, who now have purchased glory
At this place where I was lost;
Though in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears,
When you think on our undoing,

You will mix your joy with tears.

"See these mournful spectres, sweeping
Ghastly o'er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping;

These were English captains brave:
Mark those numbers pale and horrid,
Those were once my sailors bold,
Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead,
While his dismal tale is told.

"I, by twenty sail attended,

Did the Spanish town affright:
Nothing then its wealth defended
But my orders not to fight:
Oh! that in this rolling ocean

I had cast them with disdain,
And obey'd my heart's warm motion,

To have quell'd the pride of Spain

"For resistance I could fear none,
But with twenty ships had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Hast achieved with six alone.
Then the Bastimentos never

Had our foul dishonour seen,
Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.

nued long inactive on that station, to his own great regret. He afterward removed to Carthagena, and remained cruising in these seas till far the greater part of his men pe rished deplorably by the diseases of that unhealthy climate. This brave man seeing his best officers and men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed to inevitable destrue tion, and himself made the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a broken heart-PERCY.] [† Admiral Vernon's ship.]

THE BLACKBIRD. A MACARONI FABLE.
IN concert with the curfew bell,

An Owl was chanting vespers in his cell;
Upon the outside of the wall,

A blackbird, famous in that age,
From a bow-window in the hall,
Hung dangling in a wicker cage;
Instead of psalmody and prayers,

Like those good children of St. Francis,
He secularized all his airs,

And took delight in wanton fancies.

Whilst the bell toll'd, and the Owl chanted,
Every thing was calm and still;
All nature seem'd rapt and enchanted.
Except the querulous, unthankful rill;
Unawed by this imposing scene,

Our Blackbird the enchantment broke;
Flourish'd a sprightly air between,
And whistled the Black Joke.
This lively unexpected motion
Set nature in a gayer light;

Quite overturn'd the monks' devotion,
And scatter'd all the gloom of night.
I have been taught in early youth,
By an expert metaphysician,
That ridicule's the test of truth,
And only match for superstition,
Imposing rogues, with looks demure,
At Rome keep all the world in awe;
Wit is profane, learning impure,
And reasoning against the law.
Between two tapers and a book,
Upon a dresser clean and neat,
Behold a sacerdotal cook,

Cooking a dish of heavenly meat!

CAPTAIN EDWARD THOMPSON was a native of Hull, and went to sea so early in life as to be precluded from the advantages of a liberal education. At the age of nineteen, he acted as lieutenant on board the Jason, in the engagement off Ushant, between Hawke and Conflans. Coming to London after the peace, he resided, for some time, in Kew-lane, where he wrote some light pieces for the stage, and some licentious poems; the titles of which need not be revived. At the breaking out of the American war, Garrick's interest obtained promotion for him in his own profession; and he was appointed to the command of the Hyæna frigate, and made his fortune

by the single capture of a French East Indiaman. He was afterward in Rodney's action off Cape St. Vincent, and brought home the tidings of the victory. His death was occasioned by a fever, which he caught on board the Grampus, while he commanded that vessel off the coast of Africa. Though a dissolute man, he had the character of an able and humane commander.

A few of his sea songs are entitled to reme brance. Besides his poems and dramatic pieces, he published “ Letters of a Sailor;" and edited the works of John Oldham, P. Whitehead, and Andrew Marvell. For the last of those tasks he was grossly unqualified.

THE topsails shiver in the wind,
The ship she casts to sea;
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,
Are, Mary, moor'd by thee:

For though thy sailor's bound afar,
Still love shall be his leading star.

Should landmen flatter when we're sail'd,

Oh doubt their artful tales;

No gallant sailor ever fail'd,

If Cupid fill'd his sails:

Thou art the compass of my soul,

Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

BEHOLD upon the swelling wave,
With streaming pendants gay,
Our gallant ship invites the brave,
While glory leads the way;

And a cruising we will go.

Whene'er Monsieur comes in view,
From India richly fraught,

To gain the prize we're firm and true,
And fire as quick as thought.

With hearts of oak we ply each gun,
Nor fear the least dismay;
We either take, or sink, or burn,
Or make them run away.
The lovely maids of Britain's isle
We sailors ne'er despise;

SONG.

LOOSE every sail to the breeze,

The course of my vessel improve; I've done with the toils of the seas,

Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love.

Since Emma is true as she's fair,

My griefs I fling all to the wind: "Tis a pleasing return for my care, My mistress is constant and kind.

My sails are all fill'd to my dear;

What tropic bird swifter can move? Who, cruel, shall hold his career

That returns to the nest of his love!

Hoist every sail to the breeze,

Come, shipmates, and join in the song; Let's drink, while the ship cuts the seas, To the gale that may drive her along.

HENRY HEADLEY, whose uncommon talents were lost to the world at the age of twenty-two, was born at Irstead, in Norfolk. He received his education at the grammar-school of Norwich, under Dr. Parr: and, at the age of sixteen, was admitted a member of Trinity College, Oxford. There the example of Thomas Warton, the senior of his college, led him to explore the beauties of our elder poets. About the age of twenty he published some pieces of verse, which exhibit no "Select very remarkable promise; but his

On

Beauties of the Ancient English Poets," which appeared in the following year, were accompanied with critical observations, that showed an unparalleled ripeness of mind for his years. leaving the university, after a residence of four years, he married, and retired to Matlock, in Derbyshire. His matrimonial choice is said to have been hastily formed, amid the anguish of disappointment in a previous attachment. But

short as his life was, he survived the lady whom he married.

The symptoms of consumption having appeared in his constitution, he was advised to try the benefit of a warmer climate; and he took the resolution of repairing to Lisbon, unattended by a single friend. On landing at Lisbon, far from feeling any relief from the climate, he found himself oppressed by its sultriness; and in this forlorn state, was on the point of expiring, when Mr. De Vismes, to whom he had received a letter of introduction from the late Mr. Windham, conveyed him to his healthful villa, near Cintra, allotted spacious apartments for his use, procured for him the ablest medical assistance, and treated him with every kindness and amusement that But his could console his sickly existence. malady proved incurable; and, returning to England at the end of a few months, he expired at Norwich.