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Like an eagle she soar'd in the youth of her pride,
And her joy was the battle of freedom to guide;
As the fate-bearing lightning she sped on the wind,
And her young in the shade of her pinions reclin'd.

Her haunt was the rock, and she chas'd in dismay
The vulture and wolf from her eyrie away:

And when the wild tempest howl'd hoarse o'er the wave,
Her delight was the weak from its fury to save.

But her giant strength blesses the nations no more,
And the race of the sun of her honour is o'er:
She hath tasted of blood, and her anger hath hurl'd
The flame shaft of war o'er a desolate world.

T

O England! when Mercy soft-murmur'd her pray'r,
And bade thee the life-blood of nations to spare;
Thy soul was for war, and thy haughty behest
Chas'd the seraph of Peace from thy merciless breast.
The seraph of Peace from thy fury had fled,
In the gloom of the North she had pillow'd her head;
But thy vengeance pursu'd her-bewilder'd with care,
She awoke to fierce havock, to groans and despair!

O bring not the laurel-wreath constant to fame,
And rend not heav'n's concave with shouts of acclaim,
When the spoil and the plunder shall rise on the wave,-
The plunder of friends and the spoil of the brave!

For the triumph which Liberty hallow'd is fled,
And the might of the tyrant has rag'd in its stead;
And chang'd is the radiance that stream'd o'er the heath,
To the warning of nations, the meteor of death!
Birmingham.

WHEN

DENMARK.

J.

HEN Denmark's ships, and Denmark's stores,
Arrive at old Britannia's shores,

Then Ministers, alas! will find

That they have left a stain behind!

TIM TRUEMAN.

LINES

LINES ON THE DEATH OF AN UNFORTUNATE YOUNG WOMAN,

BASELY MURDERED NEAR ST. GEORGE'S FIELDS.

O'E

[From the Morning Chronicle.]

1

'ER her cold grave no friend to drop a tear, None to lament her suff'rings most severe; Unpitied and unmourn'd, no hand to pay The last sad tribute to her closing day: A day whose morn in fairer prospects rose, A day whose dawn was soon o'ercast with woes. Alas! too young bereft of parents' care, Alas! too beauteous to escape the snare Of frail temptation-though she still had trod Virtue's fair path, nor e'er forsook her God, Till in a luckless hour-unhappy maid !— From innocence and peace, from home she stray'd, Then, press'd by want, with vicious means complied; Poor, friendless, and expos'd-she sinn'd-and died.

THE LAMENTATIONS OF A REVIEWER,

ON READING A POPULAR PUBLICATION.

[From the Ledger.]

OF all "The Miseries of Human Life,"

The lot of boy, man, widow, maid, or wife,
The worst a mortal might with patience brook,
Compar'd with toiling through a stupid book!

DISORDERS OF THE MINISTERS.
[From the British Press, Nov. 5.]

MR. EDITOR,

THE Courier, a violent Treasury Journal, last night contained an articie, from which the following is

an extract

"The Opposition papers, kindly unlocking the door of the Cabinet, inform us, that disputes ran high upon the subject of the dispute with America, and that Mr. Rose's instructions are not yet prepared. It is

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not improbable that at the very time we are writing this paragraph, Mr. Rose may be embarking at Lymington, on board the frigate appointed to carry him to America; he would hardly sail, we scarcely need say, without his instructions. But the fact is, that the poor dismissed and disgraced members of the late Ministry must try every expedient to keep up their spirits, and to prevent their supporters from being quite chop-fallen. At one time the Ministers are quarrelling, at another they are dying-the other day they dealt out, as hopes to their party, that His Grace of Portland was dying with the stone, and Lord Castlereagh of a complaint in his liver. To complete the ingredients of their cauldron,' they throw in some lamentations about the eyesight of an illustrious Personage. Fortunately, we are able to say to them, in the words of the French poet, • Les gens que vous 'tuez se portent assez bien.'-But that will not deter them from predicting disease and death to other Members of the Cabinet; and we have no doubt that in a day or two we shall have Mr. Perceval tapped for the dropsy, and Mr. Canning afflicted with the gout in his stomach. In the mean time, they are getting rid of some of their own bile, by inveighing against the selection of the son of Mr. Rose to proceed upon a special mission to America.. He is with them a perfect novice, without talent and without experience.

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Being in the daily habit of reading The Morning Chronicle and other prints, not only of London, but of the United Kingdom, considered Opposition prints, of any degree of respectability or character for authenticity, and not finding any thing to the above effect, we were surprised at this piteous account of the present Ministry, given in The Courier of last night. With respect to the defect of eyesight, that topic has long since disappeared from newspaper discussion; but it is well worthy of the inveterate habits of the Jacobin Cou

1

rier, not the less a Jacobin, because it bears the ministerial livery, to unnecessarily revive it. Leaving respect and loyalty out of the question, in common decency and delicacy to the great and illustrious Personage, thus wantonly brought forward, and huddled together with his Ministers, in one common and indiscriminate mass, we must, so far as respects that exalted Personage, permit the strictures of The Courier to pass without further notice. Confining ourselves, then, to the disordered state of the Ministry, as represented in that paper, we may ask, What could induce such a statement in such a print? The fact is, that without attacks, real or pretended, against Ministers, in the public prints, The Courier would be ruined, its occupation would be gone. As the servile tool of the Treasury, if it has no opportunity of displaying its zeal in the defence of its employers, it can have no claim to thanks or remuneration. It is, therefore, the interest of the Treasury journals to terrify the Ministers with accounts of the malignant hostility of the independent part of the public press, to represent it as actuated, to use their cant phrase, with "the base spi. rit of faction : and when there are no real attacks made upon Ministers, to set their fancy at work, and assure Ministers that they are assailed on all sides. In this sort of skiomachia, as it was called by the disputants at the Grecian school, for this fighting of shadows, this conjuring up of arguments for the pleasure of knocking them down, is not a new invention, there are none of the Treasury journals so well versed as The Courier. Day after day have we seen its columns filled with laboured answers to alleged charges against Ministers in the Opposition prints, not one of which charges was in existence; and of this description is the article from which we have made the above extract. We shall now proceed to notice it, with the exception of the Illustrious Individual, in favour of whom

"

whom we have laid claim to silence. Mr. George Henry Rose, who is going out as Special Envoy to America, for which place he has probably sailed before this time, in the Statira, is the first in the series given by The Courier; and the charge stated to be brought against him is, that he is young, and without experience. A low and vulgar weekly libelier, we are aware, is continually crying out, "Old George Rose, Old George Rose," as if to be advanced in years was a crime and a reproach; but from this charge of old age against the father, it does not necessarily follow, that the son is a stripling, a mere novice, without experience;" and admitting that such inference did follow, the charge would not inculpate the Opposition prints. The weekly libeller is of no particular party or principle, but of every party and principle that may lead to promote his sordid purpose of filthy lucre, or gratify his malignant passions. Besides, the charge of extreme youth, as urged against Mr. George Henry Rose, a man advanced in life, and who, seventeen years ago, as The Courier admits, was employed in a diplomatic situation with Lord Auckland at the Hague, is quite ridiculous, and as such, we have never known any person absurd or ignorant enough to make it. Considering his experience and diplomatic address, we should much sooner have expected to hear him described in the language of Statira, when she thus speaks of Alexander:

"Not the soft breezes of the genial spring,
The fragrant violet or opening Rose

Are half so sweet

Then he will talk-good gods how he will talk!
He speaks the kindest words, and looks such things,
Vows with such passion, swears with such a grace,
That it is heav'n to be deluded by him."

The next in the series is the Duke of Portland.His Grace has not enjoyed very good health for some years, and lately he has been seriously indisposed, and

therefore

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