of his friend, the Prince is understood to have given his ready assent, observing, that Mr. Southey's efforts in the Spanish cause alone, rendered him highly worthy of the situation. As Mr. Croker, however, was taking his leave, he was met by Lord Liverpool and the Marquis of Hertford, the latter of whom, as Chamberlain, had, it seems, made an offer of the place to Mr. Walter Scott, who had signified his acceptance of it. Some little difficulty naturally arose on the occasion; but it was agreed that the two Poets should settle the point of precedence between themselves. A friendly altercation, unlike that of the Shepherds in Virgil, now took place between Mr. Scott and Mr. Southey, each waving his own pretensions and giving the palm of victory to the other. -But it was finally determined, that as Mr. Scott, though he would not allow himself to be the greatest, was at least the richest Poet of the two, Mr. Southey, who had most need of this post of honour and of profit, should have it. So ends this important affair.

DANCING.

London Paper.

"I am an old fellow," says Cowper in one of his letters to Hur. dis, "but I had once my dancing days, as you have now, yet I could never find that I could learn half so much of a woman's real character by dancing with her, as by conversing with her at home, when I could observe her behaviour at the table, at the fireside, and in all the trying circumstances of domestick life. We are all good, when we are pleased, but she is the good woman who wants not the fiddle to sweeten her."

On the Spartans who fell at Thermopyla.

FROM THE GREEK OF SIMONIDES.

The patriot's early doom was blest,
Who fell, by Persia's hate opprest;
And holy is their tomb :

While memory lasts, it shall remain,
The reverence of an altar gain,

And brave oblivion's gloom.
Decay, their honours still shall spare,
And time, that all things does impair;
Nor sorrow weep their fall:
But Greece with pride her glories tell,
That here her dearest children fell,
Obedient to her call.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

CORINNA'S CHARM.

O! where is the charm my Corinna possesses,

To ravish my senses away?

'Tis not in her kisses, nor tender caresses,

The charm that has led me astray :

For kisses are common, and so are caresses,

As sweet and as tender as they :

Then where is the charm my Corinna possesses,

That has stolen my senses away!

'Tis not in her smile, though that smile is enchanting,

Nor soft downy bosom so fair;

For to me, a soft bosom has never been wanting,

Nor the smile that can banish all care.

Since then her sweet kisses, her smiles and caresses,

Nor soft bosom have led me astray;

O! where is the charm my Corinna possesses,

That has stolen my senses away!

Come, listen, ye fair, and the charm I'll reveal,
That all pleasures of sense doth surpass,

'Tis a charm that no beauty can wish to conceal,
Though it never appears in her glass:

BRIGHT WIT is the charm my Corinna possesses,

It forms the delight of her bower,

Fair faces, sweet kisses, soft smiles and caresses
Possess not its sovereign power!

SYLVANDER.

LINES

On being told by a Lady, that having once loved, she could never love again, though she might cherish the feelings of friendship.

If only once to love, be Heaven's decree,

If the fond heart were doom❜d but once to know,

Say, sweet enchantress, whither shall I flee,

T'escape the pangs of unavailing woe?

For I have long and dearly lov'd the fair,
Whose bosom love can never warm again!
Say, must I yield to heart-corroding care,
Since my bright hopes are fled, my peace is slain?

No! cease vain murmurs, cease this fond alarm,
Friendship, she own'd, her bosom still might cheer,
Come friendship, then, impart thy lovely charm,
Thy charm, to feeling hearts so truly dear.

Since Laura will the darts of love defy,

Nay, chide not, old grey beard, at hearing me dwell
On the theme of my raptures and fears,

Nay chide not! the dreams that you seek to dispel,
Shed light on the bloom. of my years.

Let me grasp, let me gather the fugitive flowers,

That embellish the morn of my day,

Let me quaff the rich sweets of those love breathing hours,
Ere the nectar hath passed away.

AGE.

Fond fool! heed my counsel-the counsel of one,

Who has proved the delusions of life,

Who wishing his wearisome pilgrimage done,

Turns alike from its joys and its strife.

What is that thou call'st rapture? a thing which the frowns

Of an ingrate may melt into air;

What is love, but a sweet bitter chalice, that drowns

The wit of the wise and fair?

YOUTH.

Ah! falsehood; thou Cynick, I'll listen no more
To the heart freezing words of thy tongue,
Farewell to the sage with his wisdom and lore,
Who forgets that he too was young!

Whose rancour would sully and poison the spring
Of a bliss he no longer can taste,

His glance o'er the bright earth who scowlingly flings,

And cries," 'tis a desolate waste."

AGE.

Yet stay, thoughtless railer-yet heed me, awhile,
Ere thou goest on thy journey of pain,

O stake not the peace of thy soul on a smile,

If thy soul would its greatness retain.

Turn back from those wiles that enamour'd thy sight, And the path of thy duties pursue,

Quit the meteors of passion, for truth's steady light, And bid fancy a final adieu.

YOUTH.

Part with fancy? No, no, I have worshipped her long,
To her my first off'rings were made,

Ah! ne'er from my bosom, ah, ne'er from my song,
May the beam of her loveliness fade,

And bid'st thou my steps from a paradise go

To the tame, barren regions of truth?

Ne'er shall they-I'll yet pluck the blossoms that grow On the sun-gilded uplands of youth.

AGE.

And how wilt thou feel when the blush of thy prime

Hath met the cold breath of decay:

When bowing, like me, 'neath the rigour of time,
Thou waitest the close of thy day?

What triumphs of virtue, what thoughts of the past,
To thee will rob death of its gloom?

What deeds o'er thy name will a radiancy cast,

That will shine through the night of the tomb?

YOUTH.

Oh father! my father! the spell is no more,

That round me its witcheries spread,
To the heights of renown do my proud wishes soar,
I have dreamt-but my dreamings are fled;

And yet 'twas a vision so beauteous-I weep
That its graces so rapidly flew,

And am tempted, to wish that the spirit of sleep
Would the dream of my transport renew.

AGE.

Nay, mourn not, my child, that the shadows are flown, Through which thy blind footsteps have trod,

Oh! scorn the vain toys that thy soul hath outgrown,

And arise at the voice of thy God!
He bids thee the race of thy virtue begin,

Ere time shall have silver'd thine hair;
He bids thee-he bids every pilgrim of sin,
For the day of his judgment prepare.

YOUTH.

Yet hold, gloomy Mentor, soft whispers descend
To mine ears, from the mansions above-
They tell me the task of my labours to blend

With the sweet smile of soul-wedded love.

Return then, dear guest, and thy station resume

In the folds of this sensitive heart,

There dwell-till the chills of the mouldering tomb,
Command thee again to depart.

SHAKESPEARE.

[From" Ferney, an Epistle to M. Voltaire," by George Keate, Esq. author of "Sketches from Nature, taken in a Journey to Margate, &c." ( work extremely popular when first published.]

Yes! jealous wits may still for empire strive,
Still keep the flame of critick rage alive,
Our Shakespeare yet shall his own rights maintain,
And crown the triumphs of Eliza's reign,
Above controul, above each classick rule,
His tut'ress nature, and the world his school,
On soaring pinions borne, to him was giv'n
The ærial range of fancy's brightest heaven
To bid rapt thought o'er noblest heights aspire,
And wake each passion with a muse of fire.
Revere his genius; to the dead, be just,
And spare the laurels that o'ershade his dust;
Low sleeps the bard, in cold obstruction laid,
Nor asks the chaplet from a rival's head.
O'er the drear vault, ambition's utmost bound,
Unheard, shall fame her airy trumpet sound!
Unheard alike, nor grief nor transport raise,
The blast of censure, or the note of praise.
As Raphael's own creation grac'd his hearse,
And sham'd the pomp of ostentatious verse,
Shall Shakespeare's honours by himself be paid,
And nature perish, ere his pictures fade.