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ODE TO A STEAM-BOAT.

THOMAS DOUBLEDAY.

ON such an eve, perchance as this,
When not a zephyr skims the deep,
And sea-birds rest upon th' abyss,
Scarce by its heaving rocked to sleep-
On such an eve as this, perchance,
Might Scylla eye the blue expanse.

The languid ocean scarce at all

Amongst the sparkling pebbles hissingThe lucid wavelets as they fall,

The sunny beach in whispers kissing,
Leave not a furrow-as they say
Oft haps when pleasure ebbs away.

Full many a broad, but delicate tint
Is spread upon the liquid plain;
Hues rich as aught from fancy's mint,
Enamelled meads of golden grain ;
Flowers submarine, or purple heath,
Are mirrored from the world beneath,

One tiny star-beam, faintly trembling,
Gems the still water's tranquil breast;
Mark the dim sparklet, so resembling

Its parent in the shadowing east ;
It seems so pure, so bright the trace-
As sea and sky had changed their place.

Hushed is the loud tongue of the deep;
Yon glittering sail, far o'er the tide,
And its course appears to sleep;

We watch, but only know it glide
Still on, by a bright track afar,
Like genius, or a falling star!

Oh! such an eve is sorrow's balm,
Yon lake the poet's Hippocrene;
And who would ruffle such a calm,

Or cast a cloud o'er such a scene?
"Tis done!—and Nature weeps thereat,
Thou boist'rous progeny of Watt!

Wast thou a grampus-nay, a whale,
Or ark one sees in Ariosto?
Went'st thou by rudder, oar, or sail,

Still would'st thou not so outrage gusto! But when did gusto ever dream

Of seeing ships propelled by steam?

Now blazing like a dozen comets,

And rushing as if nought could bind thee, The while thy strange internal vomits A sooty train of smoke behind thee; Tearing along the azure vast, With a great chimney for a mast.

Satan, when scheming to betray us,
He left of old his dark dominions,
And winged his murky way through Chaos,
And waved o'er Paradise his pinions;
Whilst death and sin came at his back,
Would leave, methinks, just such a track.

Was there no quirk—one can't tell how—
No stiff-necked flaw-no quiddit latent,
Thou worst of all sea-monsters, thou!

That might have undermined thy patent Or kept it in the inventor's desk— Fell bane of all that's picturesque?

Should Neptune, in his turn, invade thee,
And at a pinch old Vulcan fail thee,
The sooty mechanist who made thee
May hold it duty to bewail thee;

But I shall bring a garland votive,
Thou execrable locomotive!

He must be long-tongued, with a witness,
Whoe'er shall prove to my poor notion,
It sorts with universal fitness

To make yon clear, pellucid ocean,
That holds not one polluted drop,
Bear on its breast a blacksmith's shop.

Philosophers may talk of science,
And mechanicians of utility-
In such I have but faint reliance;
To praise thee passeth my ability.
My taste is left at double distance
At the first sea-quake of thy pistons.

It may be orthodox and wise,

And catholic and sentimental,
To the useful still to sacrifice,
Without a sigh, the sentimental;
But be it granted me, at least,
That I may never be the priest !

THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE.

A LITERAL, ALLITERATIVE, AND ALPHABETICAL ACCOUNT.

[These lines are supposed to have been written by the Rev. B. Poulter, Prebendary of Winchester, about the year 1828.]

AN Austrian army, awfully arrayed,
Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade;
Cossack commanders cannonading come,
Dealing destruction's devastating doom.

Every effort engineers essay,

For fame, for fortunes fighting; furious fray :—

Generals 'gainst generals grapple-gracious God! How honours heaven heroic hardihood!

Infuriate, indiscriminate in ill,

Kinsmen kill kindred, kindred kinsmen kill.

Labour low levels loftiest, longest lines;

Men march 'mid moles, 'mid mounds, 'mid murderous

mines.

Now noisy, noxious numbers notice nought
Of outward obstacles opposing ought:
Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly pressed,
Quite quaking, quickly quarter quest.
Reason returns, religious right redounds;
Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds!
Truce to thee, Turkey-triumph to thy train;
Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine !
Vanish, vain Victory, vanish victory vain!
Why wish we warfare? wherefore welcome were
Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xavier ?

Yield, yield ye youths, ye yeomen, yield your yell.
Zeno's, Zopater's, Zoroaster's zeal,
Attracting all, arts against arms appeal.

MOSES AT THE FAIR.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

As we were now to hold up our heads a little higher in the world, my wife proposed that it was proper to sell our colt, which was grown old, at a neighbouring fair, and buy us a horse that would carry single or double upon an occasion, and make a pretty appearance at church, or upon a visit. This at first I opposed stoutly, but it was as stoutly defended. However, as I weakened, my antagonists gained strength, till at length it was resolved to part with him. As the fair happened on the following day, I had intentions of going myself; but my wife persuaded me that I had got a

cold, and nothing could prevail upon her to permit me from home. "No, my dear," said she; our son Moses is a discreet boy, and can buy and sell to very good advantage; you know all our great bargains are of his purchasing. He always stands out and higgles, and actually tires them till he gets a bargain."

;

As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I was willing enough to entrust him with this commission and the next morning I perceived his sisters mighty busy in fitting out Moses for the fair; trimming his hair, brushing his buckles, and cocking his hat with pins. The business of the toilet being over, we had, at last, the satisfaction of seeing him mounted upon the colt, with a deal-box before him to bring home groceries in. He had on a coat made of that cloth called thunder and lightning, which, though grown too short, was much too good to be thrown away. His waistcoat was of goslin green, and his sisters had tied his hair with a broad black ribbon. We all followed him several paces from the door, bawling after him, "Good luck! good luck!" till we could see him no longer.

He was scarce gone, when Mr. Thornhill's butler came to congratulate us upon our good fortune, saying that he overheard his young master mention our names with great commendation. Good fortune seemed resolved not to come alone. Another footman from the same family followed, with a card for my daughters, importing, that the two ladies had received such pleasing accounts from Mr. Thornhill of us all, that, after a few previous inquiries, they hoped to be perfectly satisfied. "Ay," cried my wife, "I now see it is no easy matter to get into the families of the great; but when one once gets in, then, as Moses says, one may go to sleep." To this piece of humour, for she intended it for wit, my daughters assented with a loud laugh of pleasure. In short, such was her satisfaction at this message, that she actually put her hand in her pocket and gave the messenger sevenpence-halfpenny.

This was to be our visiting day. The next that