AN AFRICAN SONG.

OOR Zeila on wide water gaze,
Where white man tear her love away;

In vain she to poor Oran prays;

In vain she call the ship to stay!
Back to her hut can Zeila go;

From Oran dear how can she sleep;
When Zeila breast swell big wid woe,
When Zeila eye do nought but weep!
Rise, Sun of Morn! but give no light
To cruel man who him enslave!
Poor Oran pine, far, far from sight,
Or now lie dead below cold wave.
But if him live, him see no more

The big tear drop from Zeila eye;
Then where white man poor Oran tore,
I'll sit me down, and soon will die.

TRANSLATION FROM A SONNET OF METASTASIO:

TRANGER! my waves were born far, far from here,

STR

For I by birth am a mountain-stream;

The champaign and the mead, unblest I deem,

But rocks I love, rough rocks and shadows drear.

He harms not me nor mine, yon summer sun,
For many a grot and cooling cave have I;
And while far deeper streams all frozen lie,
My waves unseen and unmolested run.
Thrice happy thus, so tranquil and so pure,
Heedless of sunshine and of day, I creep,
Known to myself, but to the world obscure,
Thrice happy thus, I travel to the deep,
And soon shall rest contented and secure,
Hush'd in the grave where all my fathers sleep.

THE VINE AND THE YEW-TREE.

[From the Morning Herald.]

shone the

MILD moon, as near yon abbey wall

A pensive stranger took his lonely way;

1 heard him all mankind ungrateful call,
And wish his heart as pitiless as they.

L

Sudden

Sudden he paus'd, near a poor blighted vine,
Whose branches wither'd round a tree in view;
"Poor plant," said he, "why did thy leaves entwine
"The noxious verdure of that fatal yew ?

"Ah! like the wretch, who now deplores thy fate,
"You sought the bland embraces of a friend,
"Who basely has return'd thy love with hate,
"And throws thee off when all thy blossoms end."

One leaf I'll take, and bear it in my breast,
And moisten it with many a fruitless tear;
It whispers to my heart the word-distrust;
Yes to this foolish heart thou shalt be dear!

IGNOTUS.

REFLECTIONS OF AN O. P. IN THE COUNTRY.

H

[From the Morning Chronicle.]

"Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,” &c.

Horace, Epodon Liber, Ode 2.

"APPY the man, who, safe from rows,
His native fields in quiet ploughs-
Who, far from Covent-garden's noise,
Domestic quietness enjoys-
Unvext by squabbles of New Price,
And Managerial avarice-

Unthump'd by Israelitish blackguards,
For holding or beholding placards-
Who safe his nose can put his hand on,
Uncharg'd by ready-swearing Bron
With harbouring a whistle in it,
If it remain there half a minute-
(And yet, Heav'n knows, one's nasal bellows
Had need be held, amongst the fellows
Who by the Managers are sent

To help the hoax of six per cent :

By very force of argument

But not in force of words whose charm is,

No-in o'erpow'ring Vi et Armis ;'
Whistles to stop with fists their care is,
Confound, such anti-fis-tularies!)-
Happy, who's not, at twelve o'clock,
Compell'd his friends from bed to knock,
To bail him for creating riot
Where he intended to be quiet;
3 N

VOL. LI.

Altho'

[Many persons of sensibility were much affected at the parting interview between Lord Castlereagh and Sir William Curtis, when the worthy Alderman sailed with the Expedition. Since Gay's" Blackeyed Susan." there has scarcely occurred a more pleasing subject for Lyric Poetry, and a Parody on that beautiful composition has been prettily attempted by Mr. Dent.]

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,

The streamers waving in the wind,

When Castlereagh appear'd on board,
"Ah! where shall I my Curtis find?

"Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,

If my fat William sails among your crew ?"

William, who high upon the poop,

Rock'd by the billows to and fro,
Hear'd, as he supp'd his turtle soup,

The well-known Viscount's voice below.
The spoon drops greasy from his savoury hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

So Isaac Hawkins Brown at prayer
Shuts close his hymn-book to his breast,
If Perceval's shrill note he hear,

And drops into the Treasury nest,

The noblest biscuit-baker in the fleet,
Might envy William's ear that call so sweet.

46

"O Castlereagh, thou spotless peer,
My vote shall ever true remain,
Let me wipe off that Union tear,

"We only part to meet again.

"Change ministers about! my vote shall be
"The faithful compass that still points to thee!
"Believe not what Reformers say

"Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind,
"They swear Contractors, when away,
"Two strings to ev'ry bow can find;

"Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
"Thine are my only strings, and only bow.

"Though Flushing claim this face to-day,
"Let not a paler statesman mourn,
"Though cannon roar, yet Castlereagh
"Shall see his alderman return

"All safe and sound, tho' forc'd-meat balls should fly,
"And claret still shall wet his civic eye."

Tremendous Chatham gave the word,
Sir Home his swelling topsails spread,
No longer Castlereagh's on board,
Sir William wept, and went to bed.
The Viscount's boat unwilling rows to land,
"A Jew!" he cried, and waved his lily hand.

TOBY TOSSPOT.

[From a Morning Paper.]

ALike Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity!

LAS; what pity 'tis that regularity,

But there are swilling wights in London town,
Term'd Jolly Dogs-Choice Spirits,-alias Swine;
Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down,
Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine,

These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus out-run,
Dosing, with head-achs, till the afternoon,
Lose half man's regular estate of sun,

By borrowing, too largely, of the moon.
One of this kidney-Toby Tosspot hight,-
Was coming from the Bedford late at night:
And being Bacchi plenus,-full of wine,-
Although he had a tolerable notion
Of aiming at progressive motion,
'Twasn't direct,-'twas serpentine.

He

He work'd, with sinuosities, along,

Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming thro' a cork; Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, A Fork.

At length, with near four bottles in his pate,

He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate;
When reading "Please to ring the bell;"

And being civil beyond measure,
"Ring it!" says Toby-" very well;
I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure."

Toby, the kindest soul in all the town,
Gave it a jerk that almost jerk'd it down
He waited full two minutes; no one came;

He waited full two minutes more-and then-
Says Toby-" If he's deaf, I'm not to blame;
I'll pull it for the gentleman again."

But the first peal 'woke Isaac in a fright,

Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head,
Sat on his head's antipodes in bed,-

Pale as a parsnip-bolt upright.

At length, he, wisely, to himself did say,-
Calming his fears,

"Tush; 'tis some fool has rung and run away;"-
When peal the second rattled in his ears!

Shove jump'd into the middle of the floor;

And, trembling at each breath of air that stirr'd, He grop'd down stairs, and open'd the street-door, While Toby was performing peal the third.

Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant,

And saw he was a strapper-stout and tall-
Then put this question- Pray, Sir, what d'ye want?".
Says Toby "I want nothing, Sir, at all."

"Want nothing!-Sir, you've pull'd my bell, I vow,
As if you'd jerk it off the wire;"

Quoth Toby-gravely making him a bow

"I pull'd it, Sir, at your desire."

"At mine!"-" Yes, your's-I hope I've done it well: High time for bed, Sir; I was hastening to it:

But if you write up Please to ring the bell,

Common politeness makes me stop and do it "

ON