When first, to make the nation stare, Folly her painted mask display'd, Schiller sublimely mad was there, And Kotz'bue lent his leaden aid. Gigantic pair! their lofty soul Disdaining reason's weak control, On changeful Britain sped the blow, Who, thoughtless of her own, embraced fictitious woe. Aw'd by thy scowl tremendous, fly Fair Comedy's theatric brood, Light satire, wit, and harmless joy, And leave us dungeons, chains and blood. Swift they disperse, and with them go, Mild Otway, sentimental Rowe; Congreve averts the indignant eye, And Shakespeare mourns to view the exotic prodigy. Ruffians, in regal mantle dight, Maidens immers'd in thoughts profound, Spectres, that haunt the shades of night, And spread a waste of ruin round. These form thy never-varying theme, While, buried in thy Stygian stream, Religion mourns her wasted fires And Hymen's sacred torch low hisses, and expires. O mildly on the British stage, Great Anarch! spread thy sable wings; Not fired with all the frantic rage, With which thou hurl'st thy darts at kings. As thou in native garb art seen, With scattered tresses, haggard mien, Sepulchral chains and hideous cry By despot arts immur'd in ghastly poverty. In specious form, dread Queen! appear; Let falsehood fill the dreary waste; Thy democratic rant be here, To fire the brain, corrupt the taste. The fair, by vicious love misled, Teach me to cherish and to wed, To low-born arrogance to bend, Establish'd order spurn, and call each outcast friend. _Port Folio_, I-92, Feb. 15, 1806, Phila. THE SWEDISH COTTAGE. From Carr's Northern Summer. Here, far from all the pomp ambition seeks, Much sought, but only whilst untasted prais'd, Content and Innocence, with rosy cheeks, Enjoy the simple shed their hands have rais'd. On a gay rock it stands, whose fretted base The distant cataract's murm'ring waters lave; Whilst, o'er its grassy roof, with varying grace, The slender branches of the white birch wave. Behind, the forest fir is heard to sigh, On which the pensive ear delights to dwell; And, as the gazing stranger passes by, The grazing goat looks up and rings his bell. Oh! in my native land, ere life's decline, May such a spot, so wild, so sweet, be mine! _Weekly Visitant_, I-63, Feb. 22, 1806, Salem. [Sir John Carr, _A Northern Summer; or Travels round the Baltic in 1804_, London, 1805.] ODE TO DEATH. By Frederick II, King of Prussia. Translated from the French by Dr. Hawkesworth. _Polyanthos_, I-270, Mar. 1806, Boston. [Also in _New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag._, I-339, Dec. 7, 1786, New Haven.] THE DANCING BEAR. A FABLE.