While from the mid-wood oak afar The willow waving o'er the stone. The Autumnal Flower," written in the island of Malta, is too long for insertion, but contains some very beautiful lines. The poet sees, in the month of November, a flower blooming, and rebukes it for thus venturing forth its beauties at such a season. Ah why, when all the scene around Has told approaching Winter nigh, When dark November's gloom has frowned Ah why, soft flow'ret, dost thou dare To waste, untimely, thy perfume. Thou shouldst have hailed the vernal tide, Or sought the breezy valley's side When Summer held his golden reign. Then many a morning's sunny sheen And many a dewy eve had seen Thee close, unhurt, thy tender bells. Soft fostering gales had made their care But Summer's golden reign is o'er, And genial Spring, long since, has flown; Already, o'er the sea-girt hill, The blasts that lead the tempest blow; And lo! the frightened billows swell, And whiten all the shore below. Soft flower, thy fate the Wanderer mourns, Poor flower! before those rays once more No sunny morn shall call thee forth, Bids all thy shrinking flow'rets close: The Flower answers that his fears are vain; for the Autumn of Malta is milder than that of his own country, and that he must not expect to find his "own November here." He acknowledges that the cause of his error was the thought of his country, and adds: FOL. I. "Tis hence those fond ideas spring That bring my soul into my eyes; And now that thou hast touched the string, I feel them in my bosom rise. In vain the radiant step of Spring Awakes the year ere Autumn close; To these I go.-Farewell, sweet flower! Yon vessel in the bay below To-morrow bears me o'er the foam; He said, and from the lonely height He turned, and downward bent his way; 3 B But many a sun shall seek the sea, The Wanderer on his native shore. We have room only for the following SONG: Who has robb'd the ocean cave, To tinge thy lips with coral hue? Thousand charms, thy form to deck, From sea, and earth, and air are torn; On thy breath their fragrance borne. But one charm remains behind, Which mute earth can ne'er impart; Nor in ocean wilt thou find, Nor in the circling air a heart. Fairest! would'st thou perfect be, Take, oh take that heart from me. Our limits constrain us to stop here, and to refer those of our readers who may be desirous of perusing other pieces of a similar cast, and some of a more lively description, to the volume itself. The biography of Dr. Shaw is written in a style of general correctness and elegance, and is very happily modelled after the manner of Mason, by interweaving the letters and other illustrations of the author's character in the body of the narrative. The only faults with which we are inclined to reproach the biographer are some allusions to temporary and party politics which his work contains. Good poetry is calculated to survive our political contests so long, that its career should not be checked by such burdensome appendages. Σ. TRAVELS.-FOR THE PORT FOLIO. LETTER FROM PORTUGAL. MY DEAR F Lisbon, 1811. From Madeira to this place our passage was sixteen days, but by no means a tedious one, I assure you, in consequence of the agreeable society of some charming ladies: in the company of these polished females, time flew with rapidity, and the sight of the rock of Lisbon was infinitely less welcome, than it would otherwise have been. I will now proceed to gratify you, in delineating some of the beauties and deformities of this truly romantic city, and (according to the Portuguese proverb) this paradise of the world. They say, "Què não tem visto Lisboa, não tem visto cousa boa;"* and I am almost tempted to pardon them, when they speak of it with such enthusiasm and delight: its view from the river and the villages on its opposite banks, being uncommonly striking. Lisbon is about five miles in length, and it greatest breadth not more than two miles. This wide, extended city, adorning an amphitheatre of hills, that lie contiguous to the river, together with a crowd of churches, cultivated heights, covered with country houses, monasteries, churches, gardens and olivetrees, are certainly an extraordinary assemblage of uncommon beauties. The most beautiful part of the town is the valley, the buildings in which were totally destroyed by the earthquake in 1755, but rebuilt by the minister Pombal, and is the only level part of Lisbon. The houses are constructed of white free-stone, are from five to eight stories in height, and form a solid block, with intersections at right angles. The streets are wide, and in this portion of the city only, are there elevated foot-paths, flagged, and guarded by white marble posts, which add much to their beauty. The Praça do Commerçio, or the Exchange square, from which these streets emanate, lies contiguous to the river. The buildings on it are very fine, and spacious, particularly the India House, which is supposed to be one of the most exten *He who has not seen Lisbon, has seen nothing handsome. sive commercial structures in Europe; the vacant ground is six hundred and ten feet by five hundred and fifty, in the centre of which is the equestrian statue of Don Joseph, in bronze, and a pedestal of marble, with a variety of symbolic ornaments.-The head of the marquez de Pombal was on one of the sides of the pedestal, but was obliterated after his fall, and in its place is substituted a medallion of two ships. Connected with the two last mentioned ornaments, is related a circumstance, truly emblematical of the superstitious character of the Portuguese-it is said that some years ago, at a time of great distress in Lisbon, at the apprehension of a famine, two vessels, the originals of those represented on the pedestal, were miraculously brought into port by a crow, who perched himself alternately on the rudder of each vessel, and directed its course. This is religiously credited by many of the more respectable order of the Portuguese, and altogether so by the mass of the people.-The crow had accordingly divine honours paid him, and is said to form part of the device on the pedestal, but whether it was ever there, I cannot pretend to say, I have never been able to distinguish it; and although I find from my daily experience, I must make great allowances for the credulity and superstition of the inhabitants, yet I cannot think it should be attached to such characters, as had the direction of such a work: the artist was Joaquim Machado de Castro. The quays of this square are on an immense design, and far excel those of London, and are scenes of great business and bustle. The interior of the Exchange presents a vast assemblage of traders from almost every part of the world, and you find yourself suddenly translated from your lodgings, into the company of the Christian, Jew, Turk, and Infidel, with all their variety of costume. From what distance will not interest, that grand cement of life, attract mankind to each other; and here we find them, not disputing about their modes of faith, but courteous in their demeanor, anxious only in the exchange of their several and various commodities. On the eastern declivity of one of the highest hills stands the Royal Opera of San Carlos, an immense stone building, and near it is the residence of Baron Quintella, the most wealthy |