TO THE MEMORY OF THE AMERICANS WHO FELL AT EUTAW.*

AT Eutaw Springs the valiant died;

Their limbs with dust are cover'd o'er; Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tideHow many heroes are no more! If, in this wreck of ruin, they

Can yet be thought to claim the tear, Oh smite your gentle breast and say, The friends of freedom slumber here! Thou who shalt trace this bloody plain, If goodness rules thy generous breast, Sigh for the wasted rural reign;

Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest! Stranger, their humble graves adorn;

You too may fall, and ask a tear: 'T is not the beauty of the morn

That proves the evening shall be clear. They saw their injured country's wo

The flaming town, the wasted field, Then rush'd to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear, but left the shield.f Led by the conquering genius, GREENE, The Britons they compell'd to fly : None distant viewed the fatal plain;

None grieved, in such a cause, to die. But like the Parthians, famed of old,

Who, flying, still their arrows threw; These routed Britons, full as bold,

Retreated, and retreating slew. Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from Nature's limits thrown, We trust they find a happier land,

A brighter sunshine of their own.

INDIAN DEATH-SONG.

THE sun sets at night and the stars shun the day, But glory remains when their lights fade away. Begin, ye tormentors! your threats are in vain, For the son of Alknomock can never complain. Remember the woods where in ambush he lay, And the scalps which he bore from your nation

away.

Why do ye delay ? 'till I shrink from my pain?
Know the son of Alknomock can never complain.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow;
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low.
The flame rises high-you exult in my pain!
But the son of Alknomock will never complain.
I go to the land where my father has gone;
His ghost shall exalt in the fame of his son.
Death comes like a friend; he relieves me from pain,
And thy son, oh Alknomock! has scorned to com-
plain.

The Battle of Eutaw, South Carolina, fought September 8, 1781.

† Sir Walter Scott adopted this line in the introduction to the third canto of "Marmion:"

"When Prussia hurried to the field,

And snatched the spear, but left the shield."

THE PROSPECT OF PEACE.

THOUGH clad in winter's gloomy dress
All Nature's works appear,
Yet other prospects rise to bless
The new returning year.
The active sail again is seen

To greet our western shore,
Gay plenty smiles, with brow serene,
And wars distract no more.

No more the vales, no more the plains
An iron harvest yield;

Peace guards our doors, impels our swains
To till the grateful field:

From distant climes, no longer foes,
(Their years of misery past,)
Nations arrive, to find repose
In these domains at last.

And if a more delightful scene
Attracts the mortal eye,

Where clouds nor darkness intervene,
Behold, aspiring high,

On freedom's soil those fabrics plann'd,
On virtue's basis laid,

That makes secure our native land,

And prove our toils repaid.
Ambitious aims and pride severe,

Would you at distance keep,
What wanderer would not tarry here,
Here charm his cares to sleep?
Oh, still may health her balmy wings

O'er these fair fields expand,

While commerce from all climates brings The products of each land.

Through toiling care and lengthened views,
That share alike our span,

Gay, smiling hope her heaven pursues,
The eternal friend of man:

The darkness of the days to come

She brightens with her ray,
And smiles o'er Nature's gaping tomb,
When sickening to decay!

HUMAN FRAILTY.

DISASTERS on disasters grow,

And those which are not sent we make The good we rarely find below,

Or, in the search, the road mistake.
The object of our fancied joys
With eager eye we keep in view.
Possession, when acquired, destroys
The object and the passion too.
The hat that hid Belinda's hair

Was once the darling of her eye;
'T is now dismiss'd, she knows not where
Is laid aside, she knows not why.
Life is to most a nauseous pill,

A treat for which they dearly pay:
Let's take the good, avoid the ill,
Dis large the debt, and walk away.

EXTRACTS FROM "GAINE'S LIFE."

Now, if I was ever so given to lie,
My dear native country I would n't deny;
(I know you love Teagues) and I shall not conceal,
That I came from the kingdom where PHELIM
O'NEAL

And other brave worthies ate butter and cheese,
And walked in the clover-fields up to their knees:
Full early in youth, without basket or burden,
With a staff in my hand, I pass'd over Jordan,
(I remember, my comrade was Doctor MAGRAW,
And many strange things on the waters we saw,
Sharks, dolphins and sea dogs, bonettas and whales,
And birds at the tropic, with quills in their tails,)
And came to your city and government seat,
And found it was true, you had something to eat!
When thus I wrote home: "The country is good,
They have plenty of victuals and plenty of wood;
The people are kind, and whate'er they may think,
I shall make it appear I can swim where they'll sink;
And yet they're so brisk, and so full of good cheer,
By my soul! I suspect they have always New Year,
And, therefore, conceive it is good to be here."

So said, and so acted: I put up a press,
And printed away with amazing success;
Neglected my person and looked like a fright,
Was bothered all day, and was busy all night,
Saw money come in, as the papers went out.
While PARKER and WEYMAN were driving about,
And cursing and swearing and chewing their cuds,
And wishing HUGH GAINE and his press in the suds.
Thus life ran away, so smooth and serene-
Ah! these were the happiest days I had seen!
But the saying of JACOB I've found to be true,
"The days of thy servant are evil and few!"
The days that to me were joyous and glad,
Are nothing to those which are dreary and sad!
The feuds of the stamp act foreboded foul weather,
And war and vexation, all coming together.
Those days were the days of riots and mobs,
Tar, feathers, and tories, and troublesome jobs-
Priests preaching up war for the good of our souls,
And libels, and lying, and liberty-poles,
From which when some whimsical colors you waved
We had nothing to do, but look up and be saved!
But this was the season that I must lament;
I first was a whig, with an honest intent--
Yes, I was a whig, and a whig from my heart-
But still was unwilling with Britain to part.
I thought to oppose her was foolish and vain,
I thought she would turn and embrace us again,
And make us as happy as happy could be,
By renewing the era of mild sixty-three;
And yet, like a cruel, undutiful son,
Who evil returns for the good to be done,
Unmerited odium on Britain to throw,
I printed some treason for PHILIP FRENEAU!...
At this time arose a certain king SEARS,
Who made it his study to banish our fears.
He was, without doubt, a person of merit,
Great knowledge, some wit, and abundance of spirit,
Could talk like a lawyer, and that without fee,
And threatened perdition to all who drank tea.
Long sermons did he against Scotchmen prepare

And drank like a German, and drove away care,
Ah!don't you remember what a vigorous hand he put
To drag off the great guns, and plague Captain
VANDEPUT,

That night when the hero (his patience worn out)
Put fire to his cannon, and folks to the rout,
And drew up his ship with a spring on his cable,
And gave us a second confusion of Babel! ....
For my part, I hid in a cellar, (as sages
And Christians were wont, in the primitive ages.)
Yet I hardly could boast of a moment of rest,
The dogs were a howling, the town was distrest.
From this very day till the British came in,
We lived, I may say, in the Desert of Sin; ...
We townsmen, like women, of Britons in dread,
Mistrusted their meaning, and foolishly fled;
Like the rest of the dunces, I mounted my steed,
And galloped away with incredible speed;
To Newark I hastened-but trouble and care
Got up on the crupper, and followed me there! ...
So, after remaining one cold winter season,
And stuffing my papers with something like treason,
I, cursing my folly and idle pursuits,
Returned to the city and hung up my boots!.

THE INDIAN STUDENT: OR, FORCE
OF NATURE.

FROM Susquehanna's farthest springs,
Where savage tribes pursue their game,
(His blanket tied with yellow strings,)
A shepherd of the forest came. ....
Some thought he would in law excel,
Some said in physic he would shine;
And one that knew him passing well,
Beheld in him a sound divine.

But those of more discerning eye,
Even then could other prospects show,
And saw him lay his VIRGIL by,

To wander with his dearer bow.

The tedious hours of study spent,

The heavy moulded lecture done, He to the woods a hunting wentThrough lonely wastes he walked, he run.

No mystic wonders fired his mind

He sought to gain no learned degree, But only sense enough to find

The squirrel in the hollow tree

The shady bank, the purling stream,
The woody wild his heart possessed,
The dewy lawn his morning dream
In fancy's gayest colors drest.
"And why," he cried, "did I forsake
My native woods for gloomy walls?
The silver stream, the limpid lake

For musty books and college halls?

A little could my wants supply

Can wealth and honor give me more? Or, will the sylvan god deny

The humble treat he gave before?

"Let seraphs gain the bright abode,
And heaven's sublimest mansions see;

I only bow to Nature's god

The land of shades will do for me.

"These dreadful secrets of the sky Alarm my soul with thrilling fearDo planets in their orbits fly?

And is the earth indeed a sphere?

"Let planets still their course pursue,
And comets to the centre run:
In him my faithful friend I view,

The image of my GOD-the sun.
"Where nature's ancient forests grow,

And mingled laurel never fades, My heart is fixed, and I must go

To die among my native shades."

He spoke, and to the western springs,

(His gown discharged, his money spent, His blanket tied with yellow strings,) The shepherd of the forest went.

A BACCHANALIAN DIALOGUE.

WRITTEN IN 1803.

ARRIVED at Madeira, the island of vines,
Where mountains and valleys abound,
Where the sun the mild juice of the cluster refines,
To gladden the magical ground:

As pensive I strayed, in her elegant shade,
Now halting, and now on the move,
Old BACCHUS I met, with a crown on his head,
In the darkest recess of a grove.

I met him with awe, but no symptom of fear,
As I roved by his mountains and springs,
When he said with a sneer, "How dare you come
You hater of despots and kings? [here,

"Do you know that a prince and a regent renown'd
Presides in this island of wine?
Whose fame on the earth has encircled it round
And spreads from the pole to the line?

"Haste away with your barque; on the foam of the
To Charleston I bid you repair; [main
There drink your Jamaica, toat maddens the brain;
You shall have no Madeira-I swear!"

"Dear BACCHUS," I answered, for BACCHUS it was That spoke in this menacing tone:

I knew by the smirk, and the flush on his face,
It was BACCHUS and BACCHUS alone-

"Dear BACCHUS," I answered, "ah, why so severe ?
Since your nectar abundantly flows,
Allow me one cargo-without it I fear
Some people will soon come to blows:

"I left them in wrangles, disorder, and strife
Political feuds were so high-

I was sick of their quarrels, and sick of my life, And almost requested to die."

The deity smiling, replied, "I relent:

For the sake of your coming so far,

Here, taste of my choicest: go, tell them repent, And cease their political war.

"With the cargo I send, you may say I intend To hush them to peace and repose; With this present of mine, on the wings of the wind You shall travel, and tell them, Here goes"A health to old BACCHUS!' who sends them the best Of the nectar his island affords,

The soul of the feast, and the joy of the guest, Too good for your monarchs and lords.

"No rivals have I in this insular waste, Alone will I govern the isle,

With a king at my feet, and a court to my taste, And all in the popular style.

"But a spirit there is in the order of things,

To me it is perfectly plain,

That will strike at the sceptres of despots and king, And only king BACCHUS remain."

ST. GEORGE TUCKER was born in Bermuda about the middle of the last century. His family had been in that island ever since it was settled, and one of his ancestors, DANIEL TUCKER, Who had lived a while in Virginia, was its governor in 1616. His father came into Virginia while still a young man, but spent much of his time in England, where he was agent for the colony. He there met Dr. FRANKLIN, with whom he occasionally corresponded. He had four sons, two of whom adhered to England on the breaking out of the revolution, and two joined the Americans, and continued through life stanch republicans. These were THOMAS TUDOR TUCKER, many years representative of South Carolina in Congress, and ST. GEORGE, who lived and died in Virginia. The latter was graduated at the College of William and Mary, and afterwards studied the law, but, tired of the silence of the courts, on the approach of the war, resorted to arms. In the early part of the contest he is said to have planned a secret expedition to Bermuda, where he knew there was a large amount of military stores, in a fortification feebly garrisoned. The perilous enterprise proved entirely successful, and it appears from a recent biography of his nephew, HENRY ST. GEORGE TUCKER, one of the directors of the East India Company, that he personally aided in it. He was with the army at Yorktown, holding the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and received during the siege a slight scratch in the face, from the explosion of a bomb; upon which General WASHINGTON, in a more jocular mood than was his wont, congratulated him on his honorable scar. He was soon afterwards appointed to a seat in the General Court; while a judge, was professor of law in the College of William and Mary; was next advanced to the Court of Appeals; and finally to the District Court of the United States. He was one of the commissioners of Virginia who met at Annapolis, in 1796, and recommended the convention which formed the present federal constitution.

By his first wife, Mrs. RANDOLPH, mother of JOHN RANDOLPH, he has numerous descendants; by his second, he had none who survived him.

Judge TUCKER had a ready talent for versification, which he exercised through life, and he was

DAYS OF MY YOUTH.

DAYS of my youth, ye have glided away:
Hairs of my youth, ye are frosted and gray:
Eyes of my youth, your keen sight is no more:
Cheeks of my youth, ye are furrowed all o'er;
Strength of my youth, all your vigour is gone:
Thoughts of my youth, your gay visions are flown.
Days of my youth, I wish not your recall:
чairs of my youth, I'm content ye should fall:

particularly successful in vers de societé, when cha species of literary accomplishment was more prac tised and admired than it is at the present day. His rhymed epistles, epigrams, complimentary verses, and other bagatelles, would fill several volumes; but he gave only one small collection of them to the public in this form. When Dr. WOLCOTT's satires on GEORGE the Third, written under the name of " Peter Pindar," obtained both in this country and in England a popularity far beyond their merits, Judge TUCKER, who admired the..., was induced to publish in FRENEAU'S "National Gazette" a series of similar odes, under the sig nature of "Jonathan Pindar," by which he at once gratified his political zeal and his poetical propensity. His object was to assail JOHN ADAMS and other leading federalists, for their supposed monarchical predilections. His pieces might well be compared with WOLCOTT's for poetical qualities, but were less playful, and had far more acerbity. Collected into a volume, they continued to be read by politicians, and had the honour of a volunteer reprint from one of the earliest presses in Kentucky.

ease,

,sprightliness, and grace. One of them, entitled Days of My Youth," so affected JOHN ADAMS, in his old age, that he declared he would rather have written it than any lyric by MILTON or SHAKSPEARE. He little dreamed it was by an author who in earlier years had made him the theme of his satirical wit.

In prose also Judge TUCKER was a voluminous writer. His most elaborate performance was an edition of BLACKSTONE'S "Commentaries," with copious notes and illustrative dissertations. He lived to a great age, and through life had numerous and warm friends. He was an active and often an intolerant politician, yet such was the predominance of his kindly affections and companionable qualities, that some of his most che rished friends were of the party which in the mass he most cordially hated.

Eyes of my youth, you much evil have seen:
Cheeks of my youth, bathed in tears you have been:
Thoughts of my youth, you have led me astray:
Strength of my youth, why lament your decay?
Days of my age, ye will shortly be past:
Pains of my age, yet awhile you can last:
Joys of my age, in true wisdom delight:
Eyes of my age, be religion your light:
Thoughts of my age, dread ye not the cold sod
Hopes of my age, be ye fixed on your God.

JOHN TRUMBULL, LL.D., the author of "McFinpal," was born in Waterbury, Connecticut, on the twenty-fourth day of April, 1750. His father was a Congregational clergyman, and for many years one of the trustees of Yale College. He carly instructed his son in the elementary branches of education, and was induced by the extraordinary vigour of his intellect, and his unremitted devotion to study, to give him lessons in the Greek and Latin languages before he was six years old. At the age of seven, after a careful examination, young TRUMBULL was declared to be sufficiently advanced to merit admission into Yale College. On account of his extreme youth, however, at that time, and his subsequent ill health, he was not sent to reside at New Haven until 1763, when he was in his thirteenth year. His college life was a continued series of successes. His superior genius, attainments and industry enabled him in every trial to surpass his competitors for academic honours; and such of his collegiate exercises as have been printed evince a discipline of thought and style rarely discernible in more advanced years, and after greater opportunities of improvement. He was graduated in 1767, but remained in the college three years longer, devoting his attention principally to the study of polite letters. In this period he became acquainted with DWIGHT, then a member of one of the younger classes, who had attracted considerable attention by translating in a very creditable manner two of the finest odes of Horace, and contracted with him a lasting friendship. On the resignation of two of the tutors in the college in 1771, TRUMBULL and DWIGHT were elected to fill the vacancies, and exerted all their energies for several years to introduce an improved course of study and system of discipline into the seminary. At this period the ancient languages, scholastic theology, logic, and mathematics were dignified with the title of "solid learning," and the study of belles lettres was decried as useless and an unjustifiable waste of time. The two friends were exposed to a torrent of censure and ridicule, but they persevered, and in the end were successful. TRUMBULL Wrote many humorous prose and poetical essays while he was a tutor, which were published in the gazettes of Connecticut and Massachusetts, and with DWIGHT produced a series in the manner of the " Spectator," which extended to more than forty numbers. The Progress of Dulness" was published in 1772. It is the most finished of TRUMBULL'S poems, and was hardly less serviceable to the cause of education than "MeFingal" was to that of liberty. The puerile absurdity of regarding a knowledge of the Greek and Hebrew languages as of more importance to a clergyman than the most perfect ac

quaintance with rhetoric and belles lettres, then obtained more generally than now, and duncea had but to remain four years in the neighbourhood of a university to be admitted to the fellowship of scholars and the ministers of religion. In the satire, Toм BRAINLESS, a country clown, too indolent to follow the plough, is sent by his weakminded parents to college, where a degree is gained by residence, and soon after appears as a full-wigged parson, half-fanatic, half-fool, to do his share toward bringing Christianity into contempt. Another principal person is DICK HAIRBRAIN, an impudent fop, who is made a master of arts in the same way; and in the third part is introduced a character of the same description, belonging to the other sex.

During the last years of his residence at College, TRUMBULL paid as much attention as his other avocations would permit to the study of the law, and in 1773 resigned his tutorship and was admitted to the bar of Connecticut. He did not seek business in the courts, however, but went immediately to Boston, and entered as a student the office of JOHN ADAMS, afterward President of the United States, and at that time an eminent advocate and counsellor. He was now in the focus of American politics. The controversy with Great Britain was rapidly approaching a crisis, and he entered with characteristic ardour into all the discussions of the time, employing his leisure hours in writing for the gazettes and in partisan correspondence. In 1774, he published anonymously his "Essay on the Times," and soon after returned to New Haven, and with the most flattering prospects commenced the practice of his profession.

The first gun of the revolution echoed along the continent in the following year, and private pursuits were abandoned in the general devotion to the cause of liberty. TRUMBULL wrote the first part of "McFingal," which was immediately printed in Philadelphia, where the Congress was then in session, and soon after republished in numerous editions in different parts of this country and in England. It was not finished until 1782, when it was issued complete in three cantos at Hartford, to which place TRUMBULL had removed in the preceding year.

McFingal" is in the Hudibrastic vein, and much the best imitation of the great satire of BUTLER that has been written. The hero is a Scotish justice of the peace residing in the vicinity of Boston at the beginning of the revolution, and the first two cantos are principally occupied with a discussion between him and one HONORIUS on the course of the British government, in which MCFINGAL, an unyielding loyalist, endeavours to