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Who from that fort the French did drive,
Shall he so soon be slain ? While they, alas! remain alive,
Who gave it back again.
From house to house, and place to place,
In paper doublet cład,
He made the heart full glad.
Hath robbed us of him too ;
No longer now must go.
In senate he, like Cæsar, fell,
Pierced through with many a wound, He sunk, ah, doleful tale to tell!
The members sitting round; And ever since that fatal day,
Oh! had it never been, Closely confined at home he lay,
And scarce was ever seen,
Until the last of March, when he
Submitted unto fate;
When he gave up the ghost;
What hath New England lost?
Then, good Old Tenor, fare thee well,_
Since thou art dead and gone;
The good things thou hast done. Since the bright beams of yonder sun,
Did on New England shine,
A death so mourn'd as thine.
Of every rank are many seen,
Thy downfal to deplore; For 't is well known that thou hast been A friend to rich and
We 'll o'er thee raise a silver tomb,
Long may that tomb remain,
But wishes, ah! are yain.
And so God bless our noble state,
And save us all from harm,
And clothes to keep us warm.
The times from growing worse ;
With silver in our purse.
Law bears the name, but money has the power.
EXTEMPORE ON THE FOURTH LATIN SCHOOL BEING TAKEN
DOWN TO MAKE
ROOM FOR ENLARGING THE
A Fig for your learning, I tell you the town, To make the church larger must pull the school down, “ Unluckily spoken,” replied Master Birch, “ Then learning, I fear, stops the growth of the church."
William LIVINGSTON, governor of New Jersey, was descended from a Scotch family which settled in New York. He was born in New York about the year 1723, and studied at Yale college, where he received a degree in 1741. He afterwards became a distinguished lawyer, and upon his removal to New Jersey, was chosen a member of the first Congress in 1774, having previously signalized himself by his public writings against the encroachments of Britain. In 1776 the inhabitants of New Jersey deposed their colonial governor, and formed a new constitution, under which Livingston was chosen first chief magistrate, and continued to be re-elected to the office till his death. He was a delegate in 1787 to the grand convention which formed the constitutìon of the United States. He died at his seat near Elizabethtown July 25th, 1790, aged 67.
Governor Livingston, besides his political writings, was the author of various essays upon miscellaneous topics: a poem entitled “Philosophic Solitude, or the choice of a Rural Life,” published in 1747, when he was about 24 years of
age; and a few short poetical effusions of a subsequent date.
Let ardent heroes seek renown in arms,
Full in the centre of some shady grove,
No costly furniture should grace my hall;
To slake my thirst a liquid lapse distil From craggy rocks, and spread a limpid rill. Along my mansion spiry firs should grow, And gloomy yews extend the shady row; The cedars flourish, and the poplars. rise Sublimely tall, and shoot into the skies; · Among the leaves refreshing zephyrs play, And crowding trees exclude the noon-tide ray ; Whereon the birds their downy nests should form, Securely shelter'd from the battering storm; And to melodious notes their choir apply, Soon as Aurora blush'd along the sky; While all along the enchanting music rings, And
grove responsive sings. Me to sequester'd scenes, ye muses, guide, Where nature wantons in her virgin pride; To mossy banks edged round with opening flowers, Elysian fields, and amaranthine bowers, Tambrosial founts, and sleep-inspiring rills, To herbaged vales, gay lawns, and sunny hills.
Welcome, ye shades ! all hail, ye vernal blooms ! Ye bowery thickets, and prophetic glooms! Ye forests, hail! ye solitary woods! Love-whispering groves, and silver-streaming floods ! Ye meads, that aromatic sweets exhale ! Ye birds, and all ye sylvan beauties, hail ! Oh how I long with you to spend my days, Invoke the muse, and try the rural lays !
No trumpets there with martial clangor sound, No prostrate heroes strew the crimson'd ground; No groves of lances glitter in the air, Nor thundering drums provuke the sanguine war: But white-robed peace, and universal love, Smile in the field, and brighten every grove. There all the beauties of the circling year, In native ornamental pride appear. Gay, rosy-bosom'd spring, and April showers Wake from the womb of earth the rising flowers: In deeper verdure summer clothes the plain, And autumn bends beneath the golden grain ; The trees weep amber, and the whispering gales Breeze o'er the lawn, or murmur through the vales. The flowery tribes'in gay confusion bloom, Profuse of sweets, and fragrant with perfume.
On blossoms blossoms, fruits on fruits arise,
When rising Phæbus ushers in the morn,
Father of Light! exhaustless source of good!