Bright be the rip'ning beam, that shines Fair FLORENCE, on thy purple vines! And ever pure the fanning gale That pants in Arno's myrtle vale! Here, when the barb'rous northern race, Dire foes to every muse, and grace, Had doom'd the banish'd arts to roam The lovely wand'rers found a home; And shed round _Leo's_ triple crown Unfading rays of bright renown. Who e'er has felt his bosom glow With knowledge, or the wish to know; Has e'er from books with transport caught The rich accession of a thought; Perceiv'd with conscious pride, he feels The sentiment which taste reveals; Let all who joys like these possess, Thy vale, enchanting FLORENCE bless-- O had the arts benignant light No more reviv'd from Gothic night, Earth had been one vast scene of strife, Or one drear void had sadden'd life; Lost had been all the sage has taught, The painter's sketch, the poet's thought, The force of sense, the charm of wit, Nor ever had your page been writ; That soothing page, which care beguiles, And dresses truth in fancy's smiles: For not with hostile step you prest Each foreign soil, a thankless guest! While travellers who want the skill To mark the shapes of good and ill, With vacant stare thro' Europe range, And deem all bad, because 'tis strange; Thro' varying modes of life, you trace The finer trait, the latent grace, And where thro' every vain disguise You view the human follies rise, The stroke of irony you dart With force to mend, not wound the heart. While intellectual objects share Your mind's extensive view, you bear, Quite free from spleen's incumb'ring load, The little evils on the road-- So, while the path of life I tread, A path to me with briers spread; Let me its tangled mazes spy Like you, with gay, good-humour'd eye; Nor at those thorny tracts repine, The treasure of your friendship, mine. Grange Hill, Essex. PART OF AN IRREGULAR [Transcriber's note: Original "IRREGULAL"] FRAGMENT, FOUND IN A DARK PASSAGE OF THE TOWER. ADVERTISEMENT. The following Poem is formed on a very singular and sublime idea. A young gentleman, possessed of an uncommon genius for drawing, on visiting the Tower of London, passing one door of a singular construction, asked what apartment it led to, and expressed a desire to have it opened. The person who shewed the place shook his head, and answered, "Heaven knows what is within that door--it has been shut for ages."--This answer made small impression on the other hearers; but a very deep one on the imagination of this youth. Gracious Heaven! an apartment shut up for ages--and in the Tower! "Ye Towers of Julius! London's lasting shame, By many a foul and midnight murder fed."