POETRY.

THE poets of the northern section of the United States are as frigid as the season, and we have obtained but little assistance in this department. The occasional specimens, however, which appear in the Chronicle and other democratick papers, are apt to excite our risibility, if they do not extort our praise. The tendency of the original rhymes of that paper is almost always to some democratick purpose; on this account we shall feel obliged to any correspondent who will take the trouble to expose the absurdities either of style or sentiment, which are contained in such compositions; since by so doing he will confer a benefit on the community, and offer an agreeable repast to the lovers of good humour, and satirick assault. The intention of the following lines from the Chronicle, is to revive a subject which ought to be buried in oblivion; the laws have long since decided the question which it involves. We therefore have no hesitation in publishing the parody which follows them, which we have received from a correspondent.

From the CHRONICLE.

I send to the Chronicle the following lines written by J. DE WOLF, Esq. of Bristol, (R. I.)—which for their harmony of numbers, felicity of expression, originality of design, and adaptation to existing sensations of the publick mind, must possess a respectful standing on the list of good writing. LEANDER.

THE MURDERER'S DREAMS.

O'ER the bog and o'er the fen,
Through the dark and pathless glen,
At midnight's hour I stray-
By the thick, unwholesome stream,
Where noxious vapours dimly gleam,
And deadly exhalations rise,

And the black-wing'd raven flies

Where the alligator sleeps,

And the dire asp envenom'd creeps,

I pace my lonely way.

Shrill sings the chill blast through the sedge,
Loud shrieks the night-bird from the hedge,

The wand'ring mad-dog yells

Fell witches ply their hellish art,

And feast upon the infant's heart,...

And blast me with their spells, de 29 192

MESSRS. EDITORS,

I send to the Ordeal the following lines, written by J. DE WOLF, Esq. of Bristol, (R. 1.) in which I have made a few alterations, (much for the better) and which, for their harmony of numbers, felicity of expression, originality of design, conformity to truth, and adaptation to publick opinion, must possess a respectful standing on the list of good writing. LEANDER.

THE SLANDERER'S DREAMS.

WHEN on my restless couch reclin'd,
What horrid visions haunt my mind,
At midnight's solemn hour!
Methought the messenger of woe,
Bore me to sulph'rous realms below,
Consign'd to Pluto's power.

'Miscreant! (he cryied) the hour is come
Appointed for thy future doom;

Thy crimes shall have their due,

Thy slanders, and thy hate of truth,
Thy sins of age and sins of youth,
Shall pass in just review.'

O'er the bog and o'er the fen,
Through the dark and pathless glen,
Where the the alligator sleeps,
And the asp envenom'd creeps,
We take our dismal way ;
By the thick unwholesome stream,
Where noxious vapours dimly gleam,
And deadly exhalations rise,
And the black-wing'd raven flies,
With trembling limbs I stray.

Red lightnings hiss around my head,
And chill my guilty soul with dread
The wand'ring mad-dog yells:
Fell witches ply their hellish art,
And feast upon my grieving heart,
And blast me with their spells.

With frantick yell and horrid form,
The black-wing'd demon of the storm
Above me threatening cowers;

He names each sland'rous damning deed,
And points were murder'd reputations bleed,
While hell e'en darker lowers.

O'er the wild and blasted heath,

Mid shrieks of woe and forms of death,
Pale phantoms me pursue;

Millions of spectres burst the ground,
And rush in maniack dance around;
And raise their glaring sunken eyes,
Beck'ning to where the flames arise,
And shout behold thy due!'

Such are the dreams that hover o'er my head;
Such visions nightly haunt HONESTUS' thorny bed.

TRANSLATION FROM THE GERMAN.

WHOEVER has perused the prophetick metrical compositions of VAN VANDER HORDERCLOGETH must surely remember the poem

on the 3697 fol. of which the following is a translation; it commenc es thus--

Urom gronter gruber grout gropstock,
Zordur zoop, &c.

ALL gloomy and sorrowful Beelzebub sat,
With his imps and his devils around,

When the thundering knocker of Hell's outer grate
Rang a peal so terrifick and loud on the gate,
That all Erebus echoed the sound.

Full swift to the portal the young devils flew,
And the long gloomy passage unbarr'd ;

When a lanthorn-jaw'd monster stood forth to their view,
So meagre his figure, so pale was his hue,

That the devils all trembled and star'd.

All green were his eyes in their sockets decay'd,
His nose was projecting and wide,

In a dusty frock-coat was his carcase array'd,
On his scull he a three-corner'd scraper display'd,
And two volumes* he bore at his side.

So foul were his breath and the words that he said,
That his teeth had long rotted away---

And now to the devils a signal he made,
To show him their master, the devils obey'd,
And brought him where Beelzebub lay,

Old Beelzebub rose, as the monster came in,
And stood for a moment in dread;

For they look'd like each other enough to be kin,
Save that one had whole feet and a light-colour'd skin,

And the other had horns on his head. H

• Whence art thou?" said Beelzebub; stranger, proclaim,
For if Satan can rightly divine,

Thou art surely some hero of throat-cutting fame,
For ne'er to these regions a spirit there came,
With figure so hellish as thine.'

'No throats have I cut,' the lank goblin replied,
With voice that was hollow and shrill;

I have not been able to discover what these volumes were. There is a short note in the German, which implies that they were intitled Dulder Soudth.

I have cheated, and bullied, and swindled, and lied,
Sedition and falsehood I've spread far and wide,
And in mischief I never was still.

Than Beelzebub rose with a grin ;

He embrac'd the foul monster, who also display'd
His joy at the meeting, and both of them made
All Hell echo round with their din.

THE STAGE.

A REPLY

To certain observations contained in pages of the Ordeal, 135-6-7. I AM perfectly aware that I misspend my time in making this reply. Yet as I have taken the affirmative, however trifling the subject of altercation, it is unquestionably my duty to support it. It is a fact, that whenever a person mistakes the general ground of argument, all his deductions must be ridiculous, irrelevant and false. The writer in the Ordeal presumes, that my intention in the Repertory of Feb. 24th, was critically to review that inimitable farrago, The Pilgrims, and on this presumption he founds his following observations. I had no such intention, and therefore all such observations are ridiculous and false. The absurdity of this presumption must be obvious to all. The club of Hercules was never intended to destroy mosquitoes, nor the lever of Archimedes to exalt pebble stones into the air. How despicable then would be the employment of Criticism upon such ephemeral productions as the Pilgrims. But since I have come into the business, I shall review these observations, as they occur, and I hope to the author's satisfaction.

The gentleman commences his remarks by telling us what is certain ly nothing to the purpose, that "so far from being an enemy to theatrical criticisms, he has sometimes dabbled in them himself." I really do not doubt it; but neither this nor what immediately follows, has any thing to do with my observations. They were never intended as a criticism, as this writer has foolisly supposed, but were written on the evening of the play, as loose remarks; and had this writer known any right rule of criticism, he never would have make such a stupid supposition. But this gentleman has applied certain lines to me, by the way of compliment; yet he has rather a better right to them than I have. But as it is proper that I should return the compliment, I will give hims these, as peculiarly applicable to himself: