A FRAGMENT. THE clouds that range o'er yonder hill Have cover'd o'er thy grave with snow; But faithful pity lingers still To muse where thou art laid below. And while around the wild winds blow, And through the echoing forest sleep, She marks thy tale, as fraught with woe As ever mov'd the eye to weep. No stone adorns thy cold remains, But a rude bed to thee they gave, Oh fair was she who by the rill, FROM rich Patapsco's yellow wave But dearer far to me the groves Which to the breeze of Severn tremble; Where morn when first abroad she roves Sees charms which her's do ill resemble, And dearer far yon poplar shade, By Severn's silver wave reflected, "Where in my youth I careless play'd, "With spirits gay and uncorrected!" And Love there roves with timid eye, Oft secret side-long glances stealing, And prompting oft the sudden sigh, The throbbing bosom thus revealing. U 'TIS dark, and the thick clouds are rolling, How weary the day and unlovely, It pours its chill force o'er my frame, And fancy and hope are departed, And quench'd is delight's feeble flame. Dull mortal! and do they annoy thee? Not a single appearance of nature, When I hung on her hand as we parted, Were the sighs from her bosom that stole. And slow as time performs his distant round, AND let the warrior's laurel fade! The patriot's civic crown in vain To the foremost rank of fame. Too oft the warrior's wreath is borne And fortune's fickle smile bestow The meed that virtuous merit hopes in vain, THE NEWS-MAN'S ADDRESS TO ALL HIS WORTHY CUSTOMERS. WHILE the snows are fast falling, and winds whistle shrill, And naked the trees nod on every hill, Through the wet and the cold see the Newsman once more Brings his best of good wishes to lay at your door; And hopes for his customers mirth and good cheer, And all of the joys of the present new year. Already his fancy permits him to see Each generous heart overflowing with glee: With wine, punch or toddy, the table is crown'd, Which spreads honest mirth and good humour around; And, while you thus pass unconcerned your lives, He, half dead with the cold, at your threshhold ar rives. "See who knocks at the door"" 'Tis the Newsman is come.". "Take his paper, and bid him come into the room"A glass of good liquor will do him much good, "And freshen his spirits and quicken his blood."But what's here?-a Petition!-Petition!-Why "what, "In the name of good sense, would the fellow be at? |