GENTLE RIVER.

Back the hero, full of fury,

Sent a deep and mortal wound : Instant sunk the Renegado,

Mute and lifeless on the ground.

With a thousand Moors surrounded,
Brave Saavedra stands at bay:
Wearied out, but never daunted,
Cold at length the warrior lay.

Near him fighting, great Alonzo
Stout resists the Paynim bands;
From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.

Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage:

Loss of blood at length enfeebles:

Who can war with thousands wage!

Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,

Fainting, sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.

AGAIN, the country was enclosed, a wide
And sandy road has banks on either side;
Where, lo! a hollow on the left appear'd,
And there a Gipsy tribe their tent had rear'd;

A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT.

"Twas open spread, to catch the morning sun,
And they had now their early meal begun,
When two brown boys just left their grassy seat,
The early Trav'ller with their prayers to greet :
While yet Orlando held his pence in hand,
He saw their sister on her duty stand;
Some twelve years old, demure, affected, sly,
Prepared the force of early powers to try;
Sudden a look of languor he descries,
And well-feign'd apprehension in her eyes;
Train'd, but yet savage, in her speaking face
He mark'd the features of her vagrant race;
When a light laugh and roguish leer express'd
The vice implanted in her youthful breast:
Forth from the tent her elder brother came,
Who seem'd offended, yet forbore to blame
The young designer, but could only trace
The looks of pity in the Trav'ller's face:
Within, the Father, who from fences nigh
Had brought the fuel for the fire's supply,
Watch'd now the feeble blaze, and stood dejected by.
On ragged rug, just borrow'd from the bed,
And by the hand of coarse indulgence fed,
In dirty patchwork negligently dress'd,
Reclin'd the Wife, an infant at her breast;
In her wild face some touch of grace remain'd,

Of vigour palsied and of beauty stain'd;

Her bloodshot eyes on her unheeding mate

Were wrathful turn'd, and seem'd her wants to state, Cursing his tardy aid-her Mother there

With gipsy-state engross'd the only chair;

Solemn and dull her look; with such she stands
And reads the milk-maid's fortune in her hands,
Tracing the lines of life; assum'd through years,
Each feature now the steady falsehood wears;
With hard and savage eye she views the food,
And grudging pinches their intruding brood.

Last in the group, the worn-out Grandsire sits,
Neglected, lost, and living but by fits:

Useless, despis'd, his worthless labours done,
And half protected by the vicious Son,

Who half supports him; he with heavy glance
Views the young ruffians who around him dance;
And, by the sadness in his face, appears

To trace the progress of their future years:
Through what strange course of misery, vice, deceit,
Must wildly wander each unpractis'd cheat!
What shame and grief, what punishment and pain,
Sport of fierce passions, must each child sustain—
Ere they like him approach their latter end,
Without a hope, a comfort, or a friend!

MARINE VIEWS.

BE it the Summer-noon: a sandy space
The ebbing tide has left upon its place;
Then just the hot and stony beach above,
Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move;
(For heated thus, the warmer air ascends,
And with the cooler in its fall contends)-
Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps
An equal motion; swelling as it sleeps,
Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand,
Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the rigid sand,
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And back return in silence, smooth and slow.