DISAPPOINTMENT, IMITATION OF MODERN POETRY. NOT a breeze crisp'd the leaves of the bow'r, Every object now faded from sight, While my thoughts were still fix'd on my love, How my heart beat its cell in my breast, Round the bow'r she repeatedly mov'd, When I rushed and exclaimed-" My beloved!" And it hoarsely replied "Supper waits." A. B. F. IMITATION OF MARTIAL. PR'YTHEE, toast-master, order more liquor, 'Twere as likely by drops we'd be able How many? we'll match with libations, All the clappings and vociferations For "God save the King," at the play. Counted bumpers seem grudg'd, like a penny Honest lad, never think of how many, N. B. HALHED, ESQ. ODE, FROM ANACREON. COME, thou best of painters, come! First her glossy ringlets trace: -Paint them soft, and black as jet; And, if such thy mimic power, Paint them breathing every sweet, From the full luxuriant cheek, Brightly-glittering, smooth, and fair. Her eye-brows trace with steadiest hand; With care the graceful arch design; Part not the bewitching curves, Nor yet unite the waving line. Shaded by a jetty lid, Paint me next her eye of fire, Roses blend with whitest milk- Round her alabaster neck But gently thro' the careless folds Let the snowy bosom break: -Enough! 'tis she! I own thy power; DEAR Chloe, let not pride devour Ne'er breath'd the sweets thy lips impart. Nor spoil thy face with airs so silly, Ne'er gave such beauties to the morn. Yes! thou art like-so like the flower, Its warning fate should fill with sorrow; The blooming plaything of an hour, But pluckt-and torn-and dead to-morrow. S. W. ODE, Performed in the Senate-House at Cambridge, June 29, 1811, at the Installation of his Royal Highness, William Frederick Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh, Chancellor of the University. BY PROFESSOR SMITH. RECITATIVE. THOU, from thy realms of brighter day, The earthly homage, which the heart would raise ; The genius loved and mourned, that must return no more. AIR. O thou lost Master of the British Shell! See thy loved arts, and Virtue's gentle train, How changed each scene that peaceful smiled, CHORUS. -What countless Forms, with frantic mien, |