Bland, Moyland, Sheldon, the long lines enforce
With light-arm'd scouts, with solid squares of horse;
And Knox from his full park to battle brings
His brazen tubes, the last resort of kings.
The long black rows in sullen silence wait,
Their grim jaws gaping, soon to utter fate;
When at his word the carbon cloud shall rise,
And well-aim'd thunders rock the shores and skies.

Among the special descriptions of this portion of the poem are the indignant lines on the cruelties of the British in the prison-ships, and the employment of the Indians, introducing the story of Miss M'Crea. The battles having been all disposed of, including the victories of Saratoga and Yorktown, and a naval action between Degrasse and Graves, with the poetical license of a few additional commanders who were not present, and several valorous incidents which never occurred on those occasions, the Columbiad passes from the conquests of war to those of peace. The progress and influences of modern art and science are pointed out, the advantages of the federal government, and of a larger confederation of nations, with an assimilation and unity of language; an abandonment of war, and a final blaze of rockets over the emancipation of the world from prejudice and a general millennium of philosophic joy and freedom.

South of the sacred mansion, first resort

The assembled sires, and pass the spacious court.
Here in his porch earth's figured genius stands,
Truth's mighty mirror poising in his hands;
Graved on the pedestal and chased in gold,
Man's noblest arts their symbol forms unfold,
His tillage and his trade; with all the store
Of wondrous fabrics and of useful lore:
Labours that fashion to his sovereign sway
Earth's total powers, her soil, and air, and sea;
Force them to yield their fruits at his known call,
And bear his mandates round the rolling ball.
Beneath the footstool all destructive things,
The mask of priesthood and the mace of kings,
Lie trampled in the dust; for here at last
Fraud, folly, error, all their emblems cast.
Each envoy here unloads his wearied hand
Of some old idol from his native land;
One flings a pagod on the mingled heap,
One lays a crescent, one a cross to sleep;
Swords, sceptres, mitres, crowns and globes and
stars,

Codes of false fame and stimulants to wars,
Sink in the settling mass; since guile began,
These are the agents of the woes of man.

Now the full concourse, where the arches bend,
Pour thro' by thousands and their seats ascend.
Far as the centred eye can range around,
Or the deep trumpet's solemn voice resound,
Long rows of reverend sires sublime extend,
And cares of worlds on every brow suspend.
High in the front, for soundest wisdom known,
A sire elect in peerless grandeur shone;
He open'd calm the universal cause,
To give each realm its limit and its laws,

Bid the last breath of tired contention cease,
And bind all regions in the leagues of peace;
Till one confederate, condependent sway
Spread with the sun and bound the walks of day,

One centred system, one all-ruling soul,
Live thro' the parts and regulate the whole.

This is the outline of the Columbiad. In its composition it is an enlargement of the Vision of Columbus, which his simple-minded countrymen, perplexed by the new notions of the author, liked the better of the two.

Barlow's alterations and amendments of his early poem, like most changes of the kind where poems have been rewritten, might as well have been left unattempted. "God mend me," said Pope, in his favorite form of exclamation, to the

link-boy; “Mend you, indeed,” replied the boy to the shambling little bard, "it would be far easier to make a new one." There is occasionally an improvement, however, in particularity of detail, the prevailing fault of both poems being a vague generality of expression. A comparison of one or two passages will throw some light on the peculiar powers of Barlow, and the versegenerating habit of the age, when Pope was still worshipped and Darwin was the newly-arrived celebrity of the day.

Barlow, in the interval between the publication of the two poems, had become a neologist in words. It is in his later poem that we find the ill-digested scientific phrases thrown out, which he had swallowed at the banquet of the philosophers. The sky "lamp'd with reverberant fires," "this bivaulted sphere," nature which "impalms all space," "the impermeated mass" of chaos, "crude and crass," globes whirling forth "in cosmogyral course," and hundreds of other similar crudities, were inventions of Barlow's later day. In the midst of these scientific impertinences, however, he has introduced one of his purest passages on the birth of creation, when

light at last begun,

And every system found a centred sun,
Call'd to his neighbor, and exchanged from far
His infant gleams with every social star;
Rays thwarting rays and skies o'erarching skies,
Robed their dim planets with commingling dyes,
Hung o'er each heaven their living lamps serene,
And tinged with blue the frore expanse between:
Then joyous Nature hail'd the golden morn,
Drank the young beam, beheld her empire born.

In his allusion to the pyramids, he gives in a word a new sense of their enormous mass, threatening to disturb the orbit of gravitation:Press the poized earth with their enormous weights

In the review of intellectual progress, in the ninth book of the Columbiad

There, like her lark, gay Chaucer leads the lay, The matin carol of his country's day:

is an improvement on

Where, like the star that leads the orient day,
Chaucer directs his tuneful sons their way.

The introduction of Franklin in the first sketch is more poetical than in the second. In the Vision:-

See on yon darkening height bold Franklin stand in the Columbiad, this truthful glimpse of nature is spoilt by the poetical finery of—

Yon meteor-mantled hill see Franklin tread. Another line is, however, an improvement, the change from

His daring toils, the threatening blast that wait, To

His well-tried wires, that every tempest wait.

In which we get nearer to the fact; and fact and reality are not such enemies to poetry as is sometimes apprehended.

On other pages he omits his warmer religious views of 1787, the date of his first version. The picture of the divinely-nurtured life of the preacher and the earnest indication of the atonement of the seventh and eighth books of the Vision are entirely omitted in the Columbiad; while we have a vast deal of science in their stead.

As

In this poem there is a vivid anticipation of the material progress of the world in opening lines of communication by canals, which appears again with some modifications in the Columbiad. it gives Barlow's poetry the high merit, in addition to whatever other qualities it may possess, of the prophetic instinct, we quote the passage from the earliest copy in The Vision, printed in 1787, when "internal improvements," not as yet developed by Fulton and Clinton, rested wholly in such chimerical suppositions. As we write, the newspapers of the day (March, 1854) are occupied with an additional fulfilment of the prophecy, in the division, if we may be allowed to receive the Panama railroad as a substitute for Barlow's canal, of the "ridgy Darien hills" opening the commerce of Peru.

He saw, as widely spreads the unchannel'd plain, Where inland realms for ages bloom'd in vain, Canals, long-winding, ope a watery flight, And distant streams and seas and lakes unite. Where Darien hills o'erlook the gulphy tide, By human art, the ridgy banks divide; Ascending sails the opening pass pursue, And waft the sparkling treasures of Peru. Jeneiro's stream from Plata winds his way, And bold Madera opes from Paraguay. From fair Albania, tow'rd the falling sun, Back thro' the midland, lengthening channels run, Meet the far lakes, their beauteous towns that lave, And Hudson join to broad Ohio's wave." From dim Superior, whose unfathom'd sea Drinks the mild splendors of the setting day, New paths, unfolding, lead their watery pride, And towns and empires rise along their side; To Mississippi's source the passes bend, And to the broad Pacific main extend. From the red banks of blest Arabia's tide, Thro' the dread isthmus, waves unwonted glide; From Europe's crowded coasts while bounding sails Look through the pass and call the Asian gales. Volga and Oby distant oceans join, And the long Danube meets the rolling Rhine; While other streams that eleave the midland plain, Spread their new courses to the distant main."

The notes to the Columbiad and the preliminary

account of Columbus are well written. The an

In the Columbiad (1807) these last four lines read-
From Mohawk's mouth, far westing with the sun,
Thro' all the midlands recent channels run,
Tap the redundant lakes, the broad hills brave,
And Hudson marry with Missouri's wave.

ticipation of the decline of public war, from the decline of private, is felicitous. Alluding to the legend on the cannon of Louis XIV., ultima ratio regum, he says, "There certainly was a time when the same device might have been written on the hatchet or club or fist of every man; and the best weapon of destruction that he could wield against his neighbor might have been called ultima ratio virorum, meaning that human reason could go no farther." His remarks on the philosophy of history show what would have been the spirit of his contemplated History of the American Revolution, in which he would doubtless have anticipated something of the treatment of Bancroft. He carries his single idea of the evils of war to a ridiculous excess, forgetting for the moment the uses of poetry and the imagination, when he falls foul of Homer for his pictures of battles and kings, and pronounces the opinion that the existence of that famous old bard "has really proved one of the signal misfortunes of mankind."

The Columbiad was reprinted in 1809, in two duodecimo volumes; it was republished in England and also in Paris. In this year Barlow delivered a Fourth of July Oration at the request of the Democratic citizens of the District of Columbia, in which he urged a general system of public improvement and public instruction to be sustained by appropriations from government. He next turned his attention to the composition of a history of the United States, a task which was interrupted by his appointment from Monroe of Minister to France, succeeding Armstrong. His new French labors were applied to the difficult negotiations with the governinent, growing out of the policy of France in the Berlin and Milan deIn October, 1812, when Bonaparte was on his Russian campaign, Barlow received an invitation to wait upon him at Wilna. He set off post-haste; the severity of the weather and fatigues of the journey, with the changes of temperature from the small Jewish taverns in Poland to the atmosphere without, induced an inflammation of the lungs, to which he rapidly succumbed, dying on his return to Paris, December 22, 1812, at Zarnawicka, an unimportant village near Cra

orees.

COW.

His last poem was a withering expression of his sentiment towards Napoleon. It was dictated by Barlow, in December, 1812, while lying on his bed, to his secretary, Thomas Barlow, about midnight, only a night or two before the van of the French army, which had been defeated by the burning of Moscow, entered Wilna on their retreat, the same month in which he died. It was copied in diplomatic characters and sent to Mrs. Barlow in Paris, but it never reached her. The original poem written at Wilna is now in the possession of the Rev. Lemuel G. Olmstead, who has placed a copy at our disposal. The paper has, in watermark, a head of Napoleon, and the words, "Napoleon Empereur des Francais et Roi D'Italie."

ADVICE TO A RAVEN IN RUSSIA.

Black fool, why winter here? These frozen skies, Worn by your wings and deafened by your cries,

Preface to the Columbiad.

Should warn you hence, where milder suns invite,
And Day alternates with his mother Night.
You fear, perhaps, your food will fail you there-
Your human carnage, that delicious fare,
That lured you hither, following still your friend,
The great Napoleon, to the world's bleak end.
You fear because the southern climes pour'd forth
Their clustering nations to infest the north-
Bavarians, Austrians-those who drink the Po,
And those who skirt the Tuscan seas below,
With all Germania, Neustria, Belgia, Gaul,
Doom'd here to wade through slaughter to their fall.
You fear he left behind no wars to feed
His feather'd cannibals and nurse the breed.
Fear not, my screamer, call your greedy train,
Sweep over Europe, hurry back to Spain-
You'll find his legions there, the valiant crew,
Please best their masters when they toil for you.
Abundant there they spread the country o'er,
And taint the breeze with every nation's gore-
Iberian, Russian, British, widely strown,
But still more wide and copious flows their own.
Go where you will, Calabria, Malta, Greece,
Egypt and Syria still his fame increase.
Domingo's fattened isle and India's plains
Glow deep with purple drawn from Gallic veins.
No raven's wing can stretch the flight so far
As the torn bandrols of Napoleon's war.
Choose then your climate, fix your best abode-
He'll make you deserts and he'll bring you blood.
How could you fear a dearth? Have not mankind,
Though slain by millions, millions left behind?
Has not conscription still the power to wield
Her annual falchion o'er the human field?
A faithful harvester! or if a man

Escape that gleaner, shall he 'scape the ban,
The triple ban, that, like the hound of hell,
Gripes with three joles to hold his victims well!
Fear nothing, then! hatch fast your ravenous brood,
Teach them to cry to Buonaparte for food.
They'll be, like you, of all his suppliant train,
The only class that never cries in vain!
For see what natural benefits you lend-
The surest way to fix the mutual friend-

While on his slaughtered troops your tribes are fed,
You cleanse his camp and carry off his dead,
Imperial scavenger, but now, you know,
Your work is vain amid these hills of snow.
His tentless troops are marbled through with frost,
And changed to crystal when the breath is lost.
Mere trunks of ice, though limn'd like human
frames,

And lately warmed with life's endearing flames,
They cannot taint the air, the world infest,
Nor can you tear one fibre from their breast.
No! from their visual sockets as they lie,
With beak and claws you cannot pluck an eye-
The frozen orb, preserving still its form,
Defies your talons as it braves the storm,
But stands and stares to God as if to know,
In what curst hands he leaves his world below!
Fly then, or starve, though all the dreadful road
From Minsk to Moscow with their bodies strow'd
May count some myriads, yet they can't suffice
To feed you more beneath these dreadful skies.
Go back and winter in the wilds of Spain;
Feast there awhile, and in the next campaign
Rejoin your master, for you'll find him then,
With his new millions of the race of men,
Clothed in his thunders, all his flags unfurl'd,
Raging and storming o'er a prostrate world!
War after war his hungry soul requires;
State after state shall sink beneath his fires.
Yet other Spains in victim smoke shall rise.
And other Moscows suffocate the skies.

Each land lie reeking with its people slain,
And not a stream run bloodless to the main,
Till men resume their souls, and dare to shed
Earth's total vengeance on the monster's head!

Barlow in early life married Ruth, sister of the celebrated politician, Abraham Baldwin, a Connecticut man who settled in Georgia, and who received in his post in Congress Barlow's political letters from Europe. In the dedication of the Columbiad to Fulton, Barlow speaks of the poem being much benefited by "the observations of my excellent wife." This lady survived him nearly six years, dying at his seat of Kalorama, May 30, 1818, at the age of sixty-two.

HYMN TO PEACE.

Hail, sacred Peace, who claim'st thy bright abode
'Mid circling saints that grace the throne of God,
Before his arm, around this shapeless earth,
Stretch'd the wide heav'ns and gave to nature birth;
Ere morning stars his glowing chambers hung,
Or songs of gladness woke an angel's tongue;
Veiled in the brightness of th' Almighty's mind,
In blest repose thy placid form reclined;
Borne through the heaven, with his creating voice,
Thy presence bade the unfolding worlds rejoice;
Gave to seraphic hearts their sounding lays,
Their joy to angels and to men their praise.

From scenes of blood, these beauteous shores that stain,

From gasping friends that press the sanguine plain,
From fields, long taught in vain thy flight to mour,
I rise, delightful power, and greet thy glad return.
Too long the groans of death and battle's bray
Have rung discordant through the unpleasing lay;
Let pity's tear its balmy fragrance shed,
O'er heroes' wounds and patriot warriors dead:
Accept, departed shades, these grateful sighs,
Your fond attendants to the approving skies.
But now the untuneful trump shall grate no more,
Ye silver streams, no longer swell with gore;
Bear from your beauteous banks the crimson stain,
With yon retiring navies to the main;
While other views unfolding on my eyes,
And happier themes bid bolder numbers rise.
Bring, bounteous Peace, in thy celestial throng,
Life to my soul, and rapture to my song;
Give me to trace, with pure unclouded ray,
The arts and virtues that attend thy sway;
To see thy blissful charms that here descend,
Thro' distant realms and endless years extend.

THE CONSPIRACY OF KINGS.

Eternal Truth, thy trump undaunted lend,
People, and priests, and courts, and kings, attend;
While, borne on western gales from that far shore
Where Justice reigns, and tyrants tread no more,
Th' untainted voice that no dissuasion awes,
That fears no frown, and seeks no blind applause,
Shall tell the bliss that Freedom sheds abroad,
The rights of Nature, and the gift of God.

Think not, ye knaves, whom meanness styles the great,

Drones of the church and harpies of the state,-
Ye, whose curst sires, for blood and plunder fam'd,
Sultans, or kings, or czars, or emp'rors nam'd,
Taught the deluded world their claims to own,
And raise the crested reptiles to a throne,-
Ye, who pretend to your dark host was given
The lamp of life, the mystic keys of heaven;
Whose impious arts with magic spells began,
When shades of ign'rance veil'd the race of man;

Who change, from age to age, the sly deceit,
As science beams, and virtue learns the cheat;
Tyrants of double powers, the souls that blind,
To rob, to scourge, and brutalize mankind,—
Think not I come to croak with omen'd yell
The dire damnations of your future hell,
To bend a bigot or reform a knave,
By op'ning all the scenes beyond the grave.
I know your crusted souls: while oue defies,
In sceptic scorn, the vengeance of the skies,
The other boasts,-I ken thee, power divine,
But fear thee not; th' avenging bolt is mine.

No! 'tis the present world that prompts the song,
The world we see, the world that feels the wrong,
The world of men, whose arguments ye know,
Of men, long curb'd to servitude and woe,
Men, rous'd from sloth, by indignation stung,
Their strong hands loos'd, and found their fearless
tongue;

Whose voice of thunder, whose descending steel,
Shall speak to souls, and teach dull nerves to feel.
Think not, (ah no, the weak delusion shun,
Burke leads you wrong, the world is not his own),
Indulge not once the thought, the vap'ry dream,
The fool's repast, the mad-man's thread-bare theme,
That nations, rising in the light of truth,
Strong with new life and pure regenerate youth,
Will shrink from toils so splendidly begun,
Their bliss abandon and their glory shun,
Betray the trust by Heav'n's own hand consign'd,
The great concentred stake, the interest of mankind.
Ye speak of kings combin'd, some league that
draws

Europe's whole force, to save your sinking cause;
Of fancy'd hosts by myriads that advance
To crush the untry'd power of new-born France.
Misguided men! these idle tales despise;
Let one bright ray of reason strike your eyes;
Show me your kings, the sceptred horde parade,-
See their pomp vanish! see your Visions fade!
Indignant MAN resumes the shaft he gave,
Disarms the tyrant and unbinds the slave,
Displays the unclad skeletons of kings,*
Spectres of power, and serpents without stings.
And shall mankind,-shall France, whose giant
might

Rent the dark veil, and dragg'd them forth to light,
Heed now their threats in dying anguish tost?
And she who fell'd the monster, fear the ghost?
Bid young Alci les, in his grasp who takes,
And gripes with naked hand the twisting snakes,
Their force exhausted, bid him prostrate fall,
And dread their shadows trembling on the wall.
But grant to kiugs and courts their ancient play,
Recal their splendour and revive their sway;
Can all your cant and all your cries persuade
One power to join you in your wild crusade?
In vain ye search to earth's remotest end;
No court can aid you, and no king defend.

Not the mad knave who Sweden's sceptre stole,
Nor she whose thunder shakes the northern pole;
Nor Frederic's widow'd sword, that scorns to tell
On whose weak brow his crown reluctant fell.
Not the tri-sceptred prince, of Austrian mould,
The ape of wisdom and the slave of gold,
Theresa's son, who, with a feeble grace,
Just mimics all the vices of his race;
For him no charm can foreign strife afford,

Too mean to spend his wealth, too wise to trust his sword.

Glance o'er the Pyrenees,-but you'll disdain To break the dream that soothes the monk of Spain.

Ossa vides regum vacuis exhausta medullis

JUVENAL, Sat. 8.

He counts his beads, and spends his holy zea!
To raise once more th' inquisitorial wheel,
Prepares the faggot and the flame renews,
To roast the French, as once the Moors and Jews:
While abler hands the busy task divide,
His queen to dandle and his state to guide.

Yet ask great Pitt to join your desp'rate work,—
See how his annual aid confounds the Turk!
Like a war-elephant his bulk he shows,
And treads down friends, when frighten'd by his
foes.

Where then, forsaken villains, will ye turn? Of France the outcast and of earth the scorn; What new-made charm can dissipate your fears? Can Burke's mad foam, or Calonne's house of peers! Can Artois' sword, that erst near Calpe's wall, Where Crillon fought and Elliott was to fall, Burn'd with the fire of fame, but harmless burn'd, For sheath'd the sword remain'd, and in its sheath return'd!

Oh Burke, degenerate slave! with grief and shame

The Muse indignant must repeat thy name.
Strange man, declare,-since, at creation's birth,
From crumbling chaos sprang this heav'n and earth,
Since wrecks and outcast relics still remain,
Whirl'd ceaseless round confusion's dreary reign,
Declare, from all these fragments, whence you stolo
That genius wild, that monstrous mass of soul;
Where spreads the widest waste of all extremes,
Full darkness frowns, and heav'n's own splendour
beams;

Truth, error, falsehood, rhetoric's raging tide,
And pomp and meanness, prejudice and pride,
Strain to an endless clang thy voice of fire,
Thy thoughts bewilder and thy audience tire.

Like Phoebus' son, we see thee wing thy way,
Snatch the loose reins, and mount the car of day,
To earth now plunging plough thy wasting course,
The great sublime of weakness and of force.
But while the world's keen eye, with generous
glance,

Thy faults could pardon and thy worth enhance. When foes were hush'd, when justice dar'd commend,

And e'en fond freedom claim'd thee as a friend,
Why, in a gulph of baseness, sink forlorn,
And change pure praise for infamy and scorn?

And didst thou hope, by thy infuriate quill
To rouse mankind the blood of realms to spill?
Then to restore, on death-devoted plains,
Their scourge to tyrants, and to man his chains?
To swell their souls with thy own bigot rage,
And blot the glories of so bright an age?
First stretch thy arm, and, with less impious might,
Wipe out the stars, and quench the solar light:
For heav'n and earth," the voice of God ordains,

grace,

In kind compassion to our injur'd race,

Which stripp'd that soul, ere it should flee from hence,

Of the last garb of decency or sense.
Left thee its own foul horrors to display,

In all the blackness of its native day,

To sink at last, from earth's glad surface hurl'd,
The sordid sov'reign of the letter'd world.

In some sad hour, ere death's dim terrors spread,
Ere seas of dark oblivion whelm thy head,
Reflect, lost man,-If those, thy kindred knaves,
O'er the broad Rhine whose flag rebellious waves,
Once draw the sword; its burning point shall bring

To thy quick nerves a never-ending sting;
The blood they shed thy weight of woe shall swell,
And their grim ghosts for ever with thee dwell.

Learn hence, ye tyrants, ere ye learn too late,
Of all your craft th inevitable fate.

The hour is come, the world's inclosing eyes
Discern with rapture where its wisdom lies;
From western heav'ns th' inverted orient springs,
The morn of man, the dreadful night of kings.
Dim, like the day-struck owl, ye grope in light,
No arm for combat, no resource in flight;

If on your guards your lingering hopes repose,
Your guards are men, and men you've made your
foes;

If to your rocky ramparts ye repair,

De Launay's fate can tell your fortune there.
No turn, no shift, no courtly arts avail,
Each mask is broken, all illusions fail;
Driv'n to your last retreat of shame and fear,
One counsel waits you, one relief is near:
By worth internal, rise to self-wrought fame,
Your equal rank, your human kindred claim;
"Tis reason's choice, 'tis wisdom's final plan,
To drop the monarch and assume the man.
Hail MAN, exalted title! first and best,
On God's own image by his hand imprest,
To which at last the reas'ning race is driven,
And seeks anew what first it gain'd from heaven.
O MAN, my brother, how the cordial flame
Of all endearments kindles at the name!
In every clime, thy visage greets my eyes,
In every tongue thy kindred accents rise;
The thought expanding swells my heart with glee,
It finds a friend, and loves itself in thee.

Say then, fraternal family divine,
Whom mutual wants and mutual aids combine,
Say from what source the dire delusion rose,
That souls like ours were ever made for foes;
Why earth's maternal bosom, where we tread,
To rear our mansions and receive our bread,
Should blush so often for the race she bore,
So long be drench'd with floods of filial gore;
Why to small realms for ever rest confin'd
Our great affections, meant for all mankind.
Though climes divide us; shall the stream or sca,
That forms a barrier 'twixt my friend and me,
Inspire the wish his peaceful state to mar,
And meet his falchion in the ranks of war?

Not seas, nor climes, nor wild ambition's fire In nation's minds could e'er the wish inspire; Where equal rights each sober voice should guide, No blood would stain them, and no war divide. 'Tis dark deception, 'tis the glare of state, Man sunk in titles, lost in small and great: 'Tis rank, distinction, all the hell that springs From those prolific monsters, courts and kings. These are the vampires nurs'd on nature's spoils; For these with pangs the starving peasant toils, For these the earth's broad surface teems with grain, Theirs the dread labours of the devious main; And when the wasted world but dares refuse The gifts oppressive and extorted dues, They bid wild slaughter spread the gory plains, The life-blood gushing from a thousand veins, Erect their thrones amid the sanguine flood, And dip their purple in the nation's blood.

The gazing crowd, of glittering state afraid, Adore the power their coward meanness made; In war's short intervals, while regal shows Still blind their reason and insult their woes, What strange events for proud processions call! See kingdoms crowding to a birth-night ball! See the long pomp in gorgeous glare display'd, The tinsel'd guards, the squadron'd horse parade; See heralds gay, with emblems on their vest,

In tissu'd robes, tall, beauteous pages drest;
Amid superior ranks of splendid slaves,
Lords, dukes and princes, titulary knaves,
Confus'dly shine their crosses, gems and stars,
Sceptres and globes and crowns and spoils of wars.
On gilded orbs see thundering chariots roll'd,
Steeds, snorting fire, and champing bitts of gold,
Prance to the trumpet's voice; while each assumes
A loftier gait, and lifts his neck of plumes.
High on a moving throne, and near the van,
The tyrant rides, the chosen scourge of man;
Clarions and flutes and drums his way prepare,
And shouting millions rend the troubled air;
Millions, whose ceaseless toils the pomp sustair,
Whose hour of stupid joy repays an age of pain.

Of these no more. From orders, slaves and kings
To thee, O MAN, my heart rebounding springs,
Behold th' ascending bliss that waits thy call,
Heav'n's own bequest, the heritage of all.
Awake to wisdom, seize the proffer'd prize;
From shade to light, from grief to glory rise.
Freedom at last, with reason in her train,
Extends o'er earth her everlasting reign;
See Gallia's sons, so late the tyrant's sport,
Machines in war and sycophants at court,
Start into men, expand their well-taught mind,
Lords of themselves and leaders of mankind.
On equal rights their base of empire lies,
On walls of wisdom see the structure rise;
Wide o'er the gazing world it towers sublime,
A modell'd form for each surrounding clime.
To useful toils they bend their noblest aim,
Make patriot views and moral views the same,
Renounce the wish of war, bid conquest cease,
Invite all men to happiness and peace,

To faith and justice rear the youthful race,
With strength exalt them and with science grace.
Till truth's blest banners, o'er the regions hurl'd,
Shake tyrants from their thrones, and cheer the
waking world.

In northern climes, where feudal shades of late
Chill'd every heart and palsied every state,
Behold, illumin'd by th' instructive age,
That great phenomenon, a sceptred sage.
There Stanislaus unfurls his prudent plan,
Tears the strong bandage from the eyes of man,
Points the progressive march, and shapes the way,
That leads a realm from darkness into day.

And deign, for once, to turn a transient eye
To that wide world that skirts the western sky;
Hail the mild morning, where the dawn began,
The full fruition of the hopes of man.
Where sage experience seals the sacred cause;
And that rare union, liberty and laws.
Speaks to the reas'ning race: to freedom rise,
Like them be equal, and like them be wise.

THE HASTY PUDDING.

A Poem in Three Cantos. Written at Chau.bery in Savoy, January, 1793, By Joel Barlow.

Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, He makes a good breakfast who mixes pudding with molasses.

To Mrs. Washington.

MADAM:-A simplicity in diet, whether it be considered with reference to the happiness of individuals or the prosperity of a nation, is of more consequence than we are apt to imagine. In recommending so great and necessary a virtue to the rational part of mankind, I wish it were in my power to do it in such a manner as would be likely to gain their attention. I am sensible that it is one of those sub