FOR THE STRANGER.

A Fragment.

Fair is the rose in op'ning gem;
Ere yet unfolded to the sight,¦
It shines a blushing diadem;
And oft as morning gilds its stem,
Glistens with dew drops bright.

Yet ere its petals cluster wide,

Would the scarce op'ning bud seem fair!
If fancy did not wayward glide,
And bidding all save hope subside,
Whisper" a beauty slumbers there."

Or, when beneath the closing year,
Its foliage dried, its fragrance gone,
For its sad fate would start the tear!
If fancy did not, hov'ring near,
Whisper" 'twas there a beauty shone."

Yes! Fancy cheers misfortune's hour;
And fancy lights hope's wildest dream :
'Tis fancy with her fairy power,
Dispels the clouds that round us lower,

And cheers us with her beam.

CHATTERTON.

SELECTED POETRY.

SONG,

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.

(Not published in any edition of his works.y

THE soldier may toil on the sun-beaten plain,
And the mariner linger afar from his home;
But the whisper of Hope can attemper his pain,
And the dream of his fancy conduct him to home.

Ah! there once was a time I delighted to weave
Bright prospects of hope, every care to relieve;
But the spirit of rapture my bosom beguiled,
And Fancy, untrue as my Emily, smiled.

To melt the lone hours of my absence and woe,
I wooed the loved flute for its murmuring airs;
Ah! no strains, but of sad and slow melody, flow,
To remind me of bliss, and embitter my cares.

Yet why do I linger to pour on my mind

Each note that could please, when my charmer was kind;
Why repeat every hope that my bosom beguiled,
When Fancy, untrue as my Emily, smiled.

When Nature is hush'd to her deepest repose,

When the moon-beams appear on each mountain to sleep,
Then the slave is forgetful to number his woes,
The guilty to tremble, the wretched to weep.

Why then cannot silence my quiet restore,
Why fly my short slumbers, nor visit me more;
Ah! slumber could once every tumult beguile,
And in every soft dream was my Emily's smile.

Return ye loved visions all powerful to please,

Let me wake to the woes of remembrance no more
Not the magick of sound can my bosom appease,
Oh, then, the last solace of sorrow restore.

Let me dream of the joys I delighted to weave,
When Hope could each frown of my fortune relieve,
When the spirit of rapture my bosom beguiled,

And Fancy, untrue as my Emily, smiled.

A TALE OF HORROUR!!!

[From the original German of the poet HUM !]

Lemona was the daughter of Hudda the brave,

Whose throne was exalted on high;

His gold and his silver fill'd many a cave,
His nobles were haughty, but each as a slave,
Obeyed the least dart of his eye.

Lemona was tall, and Lemona was fair,

Her ringlets fell over her shoulder,

Like the silver-winged dove was the smooth of her hair, Her ankles were taper, her elbows were bare;

O! it made the heart beat to behold her.

Lemona had huntsmen and hounds in her train,

And of silver-shod horses a score ;

Her palfry was grey, and of silk was his rein,

He champ'd his gold-bit, as he pranc'd on the plain,
And seemed proud of the burden he bore.

Lemona was happy: for Bruno, the son

Of a rich and a mighty great earl,

Had sighed, and had knelt, and her heart he had won,

As she sat on her seat by the rivers that run

Thro' bridges of mother of pearl.

Quick throbbings, quick throbbings swelled thick in her breast
She gave a consent with a faulter :

The priests were assembled in surplices drest,
Young Bruno most cheerly the damsel caressed,
As they walked up the aisle to the altar.

The palace was crowded, the chandeliers shone,
The ivory tables were spread;

The bride and the bridegroom were placed on a throne,
Which entirely was formed of a large onyx stone,
With a canopy over their heads.

Now the laugh shakes the hall, and ruddy wine flows;
Who, who is not merry and gay?

Lemona is happy, for little she knows

Of the monster so grim that lay hushed in repose,

Expecting his evening prey!

While the musick played sweet, and with trippings so light, Bruno danced thro' the maze of the ball,

Lemona retired, and her damsels in white

Led her up to her chamber, then wished her 'good night,' And went down again to the hall.

The monster of blood now extended his paws,

And from under the bed did he creep;

With blood-clots besmseared, he now stretched out his claws, With blood-clots besmeared, he now opened his jaws,

To feed on the virgin asleep.

He seized on a vein, and he gave such a bite,
And he gave with his fangs such a tug,
She screamed-Bruno ran up stairs in a fright-
The guests followed after-when brought to the light,
Lord ha' mercy! they cried, what a BUG !!!

TO THE BUTTERFLY.

BY SAMUEL ROGERS,

CHILD of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight,
Mingled with her thou lov❜st in fields of light;
And, where the flowers of paradise unfold,
Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold.
There shall thy wings, rich as an evening-sky,
Expand and shut with silent ecstasy!

-Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept
On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept!
And such is man ; soon from his cell of clay
To burst a seraph in the blaze of day!

METEOROLOGICAL JOURNAL, ending 4th May, 1814. ·
Thermometer. |

Barometer. T

Winds.

Weather.

mittent fevers. Dysente Observations. port.-Pleurisies, Interry, Diarrhoea, Rheumatisms, Catarrhal fevers

TO SUBSCRIBERS.

On the 18th of June next, the first volume of the STRANGER will be completed. With the 27th Number will be issued an Index and Title Page. The subscriber takes this opportunity of presenting his sincere thanks for the liberal support that he has met with from the citizens of Albany, and the state generally. The continuance of "The Stranger" will depend on the patronage with which it may be honoured. In order to ascertain this, it is respectfully requested of such of the subscribers as may be desirous of discontinuing their subscription, that they will inform the Subscriber of their intention in writing on or before the 31st of May pett. JOHN COOK.

PRINTED FOR JOHN COOK, BY E. AND E. HOSKOJIT, ALBANY,

THE STRANGER.

"Therefore as a STRANGER, bid it welcome."

THIS lady seems to have united the lightness of the Frenchi character with the solidity of the English. She was easy and volatile, yet judicious and acute; sometimes profound and sometimes superficial. She had a wit playful, abundant, and well-toned; an admirable conception of the ridiculous, and great skill in exposing it; a turn for satire which she indulged, not always in the best natured manner, yet with irresistible effect; powers of expression varied, appropriate, flowing from the source, and curious without research; a refined taste for letters, and a judg ment both of men and books, in a high degree enlightened, and accurate. As her parts had been happily thrown together by nature, they were no less happy in the circumstances which attended their progress and developement. They were ripened, not by a course of solitary study, but by desultory reading and by chiefly living intercourse with the brightest geniuses of her age. Thus trained, they acquired a pliability of movement, which gave to all their exertions a bewitching air of freedom and negligence; and made even their best efforts seem only the exuberances or flowerings-off of a mind capable of higher excellencies, but unambitious to attain them. There was nothing to alarm or to overpower. On whatever topic she touched, trivial or severe, it was alike, en badinant; but in the midst of this sportiveness, her genius poured itself forth in a thousand delightful fancies, and scattered new graces and ornaments on every object within its sphere. In its wanderings from the trifles of the day to grave questions of morals or philosophy, it carelessly struck out, and