PS 1059 .B43 MS 1849 Copy 1 'J- h. ^. ! '^'Sj .^.e^x^eJi Mimmm pobe **0 U K TOW N..»* BY T. B. BALCH. GEORGETOWN.D. C- '»^»KIIL HWOH.S, PRINTS*. 184». Gift, ^ W. L. SliOemaker ,7 S •06 « O U R TOWN I boast no aong in magic numberi rif9t But f et oh Nature! is there naugbt to prlx* Familiar in thy bosom scenes of life? (CampSeiU Thine old familiar face inspires my strain, And prompts my harp the Muse's gifts to crave Dear native town, where lived my humble sires; And where remaining friends and kindred dwell. Poets have dsck'd in rhyme their favored towns, On Thames, on Trent, or on the antique Rhine; \ Or on the Rhone, that darts with rushing sound To Leman's half-moon Lake; a water-bird That spreads its waves abroad like azure wmgs; But what are Keswick, Ayr or Ambleside, (^l.j Or regal Windsor, Stoke or Twickenham ComparM to ours; for gazing round, methinks, When I descend the inclined plane of death, My heart will own the chain which binds me fast To where these lips first drank the balm of Life, And were this town decay'd its mossy stones Would yield me precious thought and pensive reit. Where now the homes of happy thousands stand 'Mid roods of earth laid off in garden grounds, A nd streets that run o'er .vhat were once wild hills, One hundred years ago dense cedars grew; But a lone man here strelch'd his lonely tent In matted woods: who on a scale reduc'd Resembled him who from the Yadkin went [2 ] To chase swift deer and plant a sovereign State Beyond wheie range the Alleghanies blue. T»adh!on i«y, thai Ht who wa« onr sir* Did not arrive without hijt faithful do^ And well tried gun ihat seldom miss'd its mark With nnglinor yo(U besides, well woven nets, ' Arid to the schedule we subjoin his pipe And axe wherewith to hew; and his strong bow And batch of.rrows full as vvhealen sheaf; For hoin his bow i^ei cf>u\d an ar/ow send As straight as Tell who in an Alpine vale An apple halved which Gesler'.s hand had set Among the flaxen curls ofTell's own boy. Below thos^ sea^ ^^bich stand a Northern row, Whose garden, downward fall on sunny slopes Y^'l^^^B Ijecomes a kind of table land, And on that plat beyond a shadowy doubt Uur founder reared his cabin, built of lofrs- A nucleus ^n^aJl; but in this very way" * Fah-nyr^rast^ ^nd.Rpme itself begkn, For did, n,9t shepherd boys h8w o'uta r he wa? sprung of Scottish peasant blood: «is sire had come frofT) one of Fifeshire's vales, >ri heather, winnar)^ hawthorn blossoms, rich, A scn)f| ,«^i^l|iy;ora3 p^jr^^t^ck. At evenin^r hourmv mind has often mn«»pd Ahout that kind-of life our fonndc^r lived; We he|ir^t limef. his a?v« or hunting horn, Or e«tch th. ivr.ng thai .ounded from lii, bow Or walch the smoke thai curi'd frnn. „(r i • ' C|he.rM in the .,a, by .^. ZZ ,",7;. rie heanl lh„no,es of pensive .vlipponAvi M, %3 , Cut of il,,-.. stream we may hereafter sing. ' Brave Indians once our lown-r.vines po.sess'd And o er l hem nnlrVi ..,:.i - . I'-^^'-^'^^ss o Or !^ ^'"= '""g d the uainpum bell of rieace A^ '' ''u"'! 8^""^^ "f "'«i 'l-parled chief!' JJut they are gone! poor wand'ring exiled race ' For r T "T' ■■""'' '^^"i'^x'h son. they unf Which poLh lif: piif;-: r::.^ "'"•'^'' Her crad e hymn the mother fondly chnnnts And Sabbath bells ring out a cheer^ful sou d', ^^nd orijans ch.me. and dulcet family bite. Are often louch'd at close orparting^day rt is indeed a pleasina truth to k^o^v ipf,::f;?i ;-:;;:/.•;-"" • Horourfirstseltlerjusdyoough, his land Vor cunn,„gused;-l,ke Heaven's ,ra„spare„, i,„h, Ud Stales from Carthage down had heen ..s just' -fis said thdt InJianf oever fail in thanks For favors done; and on a sultry day A red man pausM before the settler^s door And tsk'd a boon, — a gourd of water cold, In lieu of which, be quaff'd a cup of miU, And to his tongue that draught was sweeter far Than honeycomb wrought out by Hyblian bees, When thus that Sylvan being-straightway spoke: *'I am, said he, the Prophet of my tribe And let nie talk as loud as Summer clouds With thunder charg'd — ''White man! this place departf Begone at least for one revolving moon, One eagle may be strohgpr than the rest, B It can he stand a thousand birds of prey ' With falons strong and all devouring beaks? Know then th^t Indian warriors brave and strong, Will seek thy life; and can the sapling tree Turn back the hatchet's edae that cats it down? Or can spring buds resist the powerful hand That rends them off? — or can the purple grape Fight with the press by which its juice is crush'd ?— Fly, then, for 'tis by flight the bird escapes, And by the time you seek these woods again The Western Star will lead my tribe away, And then these streams, and hills and bird-fraught tree* Will all be yours as long as suns shall rise And moons go round, or frost and dew descend.'* Swift as the light the prophet passed away But left a violet hue on all things round ; For He by plaintive words had wrapt in gloom The settler's hope, and Hope in dark eclipse Tvlay swoon away like some celestial orb. But quick as thoutrht the settler lone resolved To launch his skiff and dash the river down And seek for some to share his solitude. And does not Love pervade each haunt of Life? The heart of man is like the moon when halv'd But wants to meet its other beauteous half; And when two hearts are joined, oui' silvery life Goes round in softness like the Queen of Night; And in that skiff our settler homeward brought His wood nymph bride; for woman, when .she loves, ■Can live in cabins or in dungeons (3(irk At well as Norman Halls, or bright saloon?; And Lalla Rookh was scarcely more care^ss'd ; And that lov'd bride like Egypt's fanious Queen Rode in her bnrge, and all the river waves Bent with the caravans of skifis that came Which held the settlers that our founder brought. And Ewan sung back to swan in quick response As if those pure and blest Potomac birds Would all have died upon tliai happy day- With such materials did our town begin, And step by step assumM the hamlet form, 'Tdl from its chimnies two score wreaihs of smoke Quite freely gushed, when that pure pea-green wave, By which it stands, put on its coat ot ice. And snows like Lapland's lay along the loofs; But wintiy days were chased by vernal suns, When better flowers than those of Cashmere's vale Would dot the heights, or show their rv:odest leave? Among the hollows of the verdant hills, As plants are sometime set in gilded bowls. Commerce as yet had scarcely fixed a sail To leave the town ; noc had it built a wharf, Nor cut a sheet, nor had a rumbling wheel Borne down the smallest of its pristine plants. All was as simple as Arcadian Life. No lawyer yet had learned to split a hair, . But the first settler solved each knotty point As Albert did on Susquehanna's side. The people loved and marked their Ruler's stept As when some Spanish shepherd gains the peaki That crown the Pyrenees; nis milk white flock Will climb; or if he turn and sound his horn The flock will turn and seek profoundest valet. Twas good inde^pd to lead just such a life, With toil efaough to sweeten nightly rest, And spicy cares that only fragrance lent To hours of ease; a kind of golden age Through which our hamlet pass'd, when garden spade* Shone at the Winter's close, and anglers Sfbed (4*^ Each day in all the weeks of balmy May From coves and rocks along Potomac'* banks; Or look their skiiTi on beauleoua water range O'er ihat loved btieuuk which faraway exceeds Tlie yellow Tihei*, «»r the bonnie Doon, The antique triple Rliine, or blue Moselle. And birds in rapt«r« sun^ the live-long day And plunged in flight among the Spring perfumes'. Or pipe-sounds cros«ed that tide of melody Which ebbed and flowed as if the woods were fail Of^ingling bells — and shrubs swang to and fro Tottering beueath the heavy-laden bees That flew both when and where and how th^y pleased* And on the Sabbath day one lonely bell The group together called, when upward rose Some blue eyed German, who in simple tones f5.J His message spoke to Patriarchal men Whilst mothers held their babes; for at that tiiiie The pastor bent ^o low the tree of life Thjit held-up babes might almost reach its Triiit ; For when he turned tlie leaves ofTruth Divine And read his text from off the sacred pa^e He sought no gaudy words or tropes of sptrech— Angler of men, whose cork was often dVoAVfi'd Using all skill to take the golden prey Amid the grottos of the Rural sea. Such was the time which Commerce nfe'et crfeatips, A time which lasted forty happy years, When the Town-chief, our good old Founder, die3. And his sepulchral rites were duly done Not with the pomp which marks the heartless forms^ When soldiers, kings, or crested rioblesdiei But all the people on that solemn day Went from their home to bis, arid oft thie waj^ PulPd violets up, for it was April tirtie, And strew'd them on his bter,^nd warniest teir^ Fell down the cheeks of those who held the spades; No word was said; no big guns siiook the Earth; Tli^y wrapt the hunter in his huriter'is dre^ And laid him down beneath the wilbAV tree^ And then went home recounting all his^ deed^. The MitelB imaft fijJn|i bF'ttriain fefeign hue» The Mu'se must sing of certain foreian hues VVhicli sprinkled o'er the town from time to time. No exiles came from Cliina or Peru, Nor Tartars came, nor lawny Algerines, Nor Arabs trained to wield the pointed lance, Nor Turks with turbans o'er their haughty brows;,.! j" lint Poles have come from Kosciusko's land And disappear'd, and men from Erin's isla An emerald deem'd, and from the Holland dykes, And ofi'the Appennines, and from where the Alps Sustain their clambering goats on green grass cribs Beside the Avalanche: and from Anglia's lakes And vine dress'd France: such fell upon the town ]n drops and bjenckd with the brooks that roli'd To confluence small: but to its vast suiprise A siiowerof Sculi fell upon the place, Eight years before the bard had seen this Earth, A clan soon known by Scotia's tartan stripe Who all broke up in their North Eastern shire ■And here convened a kind ofplaided troop. They liked the place but still liked Scotland more, And thought our Suns were not by half so bright. As those which gilded their bleak misty strand; They had a touch of what we call romance And oft enquired about our hill-side bees And much they talked of Duncan, Scotia's king, Of Forres moor, and castled Inverness, Of murder done and of the raven's cry, Macbeth and of his Lidy's deep designs. Their Celtic talk engaged my boyish ear Of i^pinie castle and its spacious loch, Culloden, Elgin, and of Abbeys old» And when our Town moon rose of summer nightf, We heard of Lugar, Esk, the Ayr, or Tay, Of Yarrow, Nith, or flowering Annandale. They talk'd of lochs and burns and braea and glti^i-f Of Auld lang syne, and bairns and biggings, birks Of bogles, branks, and brigs, and burdies, haughs And bumclocks, bykesand byers and mountain firs. Of cairns, and cantralps, chanters, clinkumbells, Andclachans, clips, cliids, cobles, Philibcgs, And clishmacJaver, crambo clink, and kail— - 2 10 Of ehielS) of gowans, coofs, and Highland deer, Of Bruar water, and the Fall of Fjers, Of CorraLiun, and famous Bannockburn, Of Wallace, Bruce, and other Scottish men Who did old England's povyer and arms defy; And for this clan we cherishM warm respect Tho* lude their speech and ditfering from our own. The Scuti settled in a compact row [6] And tho' that row at present be defaced In my young days its gardens wore a gloss Like that which shines on plats of Alpine grass; It ran close by to where a manse arose; And they who lived beyond the Roman wall Before they came, liked much to view that manse Hemindmg ibem of what they sorrowing left Neai Fcrres moor in their own heather land, Where they had loved the paddock and the glebe And the few sheep their Scottish Pastor owned; But from that home my Muse waves off her wing, [8J And tells me to abstain: for evil tongues Will talk; and critics sharp be sure to say Its owner was the bard's respected sire; But yet we shun it only as ihe skiff That leaves, when passing out, some gold-grain beach And from that beach, when coming in, fends off. My pilgrim feet have wandered far and wide, Far, far beyond the Western settlers' trails Where buffalo herds obstruct each sylvan gate And horses wild without a bridle roam; But thought returns to that remembered manse Where praise was loud but prayer exceeding low And Sabbath morn and eve alike were sweet. But oh how chang'd! "tis now a merchani's house Where ripened sheaves and tedded hay are sold And buyers come and go from morn to night. We could relate a more than Persian Tale Or one that might be told on some blest spot That skirts Arabia's sand, about the joys The simple joys that thrill'd our buoyant hearts, In that division of our matchless town When clouds were pure and earth itself was light^ And twittering swallows filled the morning air 11 And long neck'd swans flew up Potomac'd side* And boatmen's horns sent forth arrival -sounds Amid the chastenM hues of evening hour, When brooks helped on the twilight melody. Let me describe, although description's power Must fail to paint unrivalled joys and scenes. All hail! ye wild Virginia hills, that rose In prospect near, with glossy cedars crownM And dense with ruby deer ; where shelving down, And nigh the river, stood a modest inn Or ferry house, where boats 'mid cresses gay Were chain'd, but when set free they swam the wava Like ducks; the eye could see both morn and noon The shepherd come and guard his flock across, — A flock so soon to fall beneath the knife; And the fleet horse would come, well trained to fly And reach the goal; and his peculiar dress Each boy's attention fix'd, and merchant men; And we have seen old soldiers come Supported on their staves; and it was good To watch the men that crossed from far ofFland^. Below that sun, just on the river's lap. An island lay, with its North Eastern cape Nurse of thick woods, and sweet geranium plants,' Which Isle had then a finely sylvan rim, A central glade and Southern garden-v/alk, Where clumps of boxwood ran in equal rows' To where its Southern beach the waves repelled, Not far from where the modest mansion sat ; And fragrant cowslips, pinks, and daffbdils, And holly hocks, and Gallic lilies gay Were interspers'd with myriad violets swefet, The arboretum of our rising town ; Were we possessed of telegraphic power We would this isle on carded pictures sertd Bffore Victoria's eye; for tho' the orb of day Has never set on her extensive realms, Her sceptre never touch'd so rich a gem. The Scuti said, that \n the Scottish loch ) We Lomond call, that no ft)ur hundred roods i So teem'd with burial grass for pensive sheep 'Or melons ripe; some say the isle is wrecked ; I ^ut on a wreck, how oft has beauty stood? 13 There was a man who did the garden tend, Who kintfly spoke and that in cellic speech, And ask'd me oft a second hour to stay ; He was my guide ihrougrh poplar avenues And we gained much by following in his wake ; One day he stopped; when darting quickly off We came direct upon a hedge-row fence, *'And this," he said, "is that sepulchral ground Wliere pilgrims cease the shoon of life to wear;'* When thrice a parrot green called — 'Montague !' *'Whom does the parrot call?'' The man replied, *'My tartan boy, in Scottish Highlands born — A manly lad before he hither carne ; He chased the ever fleet and bounding deer -And homeward brought his ready captured sprnl When Highland steeps were wrapped jn Highlandsnow; But here he bowM his young and sinewy knee To prostrate shrubs or reared the drooping vine; But life was stopp'd ere he became a man, And now he lies within that yew tree's shade ; This is the plaid he once so [ roudly wore In Scotia woven by his mother's hands, And whose stripes &c threads to me are priceless things^f'. But this sad island scene was but a (oil To festive scenes which were enacted oft Within the circle of that diamond ring Which was in purest water finely set ; For young and old delighted there to go And spend the day,' and by the setting sun Return, when scores of lighf-oar'd boats would shoot Across the tranquil waves that intervened. On a round hiU our humble school-house stood,, To whose sad ruins memory oft returns ; For when our books our teacher bade us close Each boy rush'd out to write his marble rings, And up and down and o'er that hill we flew, Glad to escape from learning's rigid rules, And homeward play like nimble young gazelles. 'Tis not decay of which my Muse complains; For our small town can now its thousands count. And by it stands a city large and v&sl Where Senates meet, the seat of power and law, Where goats on ivy never yet have brows'd, 13- And maible pillars stand whose waists att deck'd "With wreaths that charm the iDelloa eye ol" lasle ^ But '(is change that puts a pensive chord Into my humhle liarpt^ in me a change. For my once raven ringlets all are gray, And memory oft expands its bit d -like wing To bear us back among departed joys ; And hence one line or tvvo may \vc indite To that school-room, and all its inm ues dear; Tho' not renown'd as Plato's olive hall, Or Zeno's porch, or Grecian garden-walks, Where Epicurues taught, or Socrates, But we remember well the grass grown path Which led my steps from my paternal door To where it perci.'d, and fears its bell inspir'u ; For at its woeful sounds our play was done And silence reigned both up and down the hill VVhere tops had humm'd and marbles nobly plumpM, And we remember its forbidden room In which were kept the quadrant and the globes, The one terreshial, and ibe ether mnrk'd With signs and creatures strange ; and gia's machinee. And hovv the spark would fly from arm to arm. Aft we stood round to take the wondrous shock. We keep no list of all the comrade boys That went to School: but some in dn>'U fell, And some put to sea in booming ships, And my last gaze at them was from the wliarf, And some to cotton farms, or westward, weut Expecting there to strip bright money trees, But ended life by cropping Prairie grass. /And of them all, I seem alone ^o live, Like some fond bird that vvheels its fondest flight In frequent dashes round its ravag'd nest. There was ono bey abstracted from us all Who seldoni play'd; but seem'd to dwell alone. Of wood saloons he was the constant guest, Like Grahsme born on the Romantic'cart, Or Cowper-like, who at Westminster school Was to its ram-like boys a timid fawn. Oh, had he lived! this boy of shrubs and tree« 14 Mig^U now bf^ ciamouring with his music sheTL HedieW!, and then arrajed in crape and band We followed on his slowly mourning hearse. 'J'hus Poets droop, and genius-biossonns fall As foliage offerings round the dying root. Haid,ever hard, has been the Poet's lot. * VVhilsl oiliers crave and find Peruvian gold He only asks sonne plain sequester'd turf liesel with herbs or f:pangled o'er with inosa And on the oblong speclrnnn of his grave That violet hues should o'er all hues prevails My pencil thus has feebly tried to paint What our old town has been in days of yore And some few changes which have taken place Since I a satchelled boy declined my nouns Or else put thro' my Greek and Latin verbs — Or on my slate wrought sums of large extent And then depicted dogs and birds and mules; The place is chang'd: on this we must insist; D.m are the objects which it now presents, And yet these objects stand just where they stoodj Tis true the orchard old has disappeared Long, long ago, once filled with juicy fruit Where boys would climb and shake the laden bought Whilst we looked up to catch the falling plums; For the red plum besides the deep blue grape Were mixed wiih apples and the Persian[peach; But now its sylvan glories all are fled, And not one blossom, leaf or stump remains. Huge buildings stand where once we set our traps, That brook is aich'd that softly talked along With silver voice; and when the grey dawn comes, Peasants and townsman meet to buy and sell Above the stones on which its waters chimed. That Inn looks dingy that oncelook'd so bright, And shallops all and boats and slim canoes Seem moored at headlands, capes, and wa:er marks, And Analostan halved in light and shade Seems now all shade, and I a hermit stand Among its glades, drest out In my gray beard 15 And snow-like locks, and pensive, gaze arounJ At woodland caves, once, once, my chief delighi! Strangers hnve conne, and doors seem boiled fa^t That once all open stood: and hands that gras^pM This one of mine, in (ormal distance wave; Old men are carried to their churchyard graves Who olfen liaiied me when a kirlled boy, And gave me shells, and I a sexton stRnd To wield the spade o'er evanescent joys. What cMice stood high on earthly beauty's scale May fade awny, and landscapes all grow dim, But heavenly hope thrusts out its tasselled wand From clouds that curl all round our earthly hopes. Long lov'd and Native Town, farewell ! farewell ! On all thy hills these limbs of mine have lain, But now ujy home is in the mountain blue; Where peasarl men reap down their locks of hay j Dear grange it is where stands my rustic home, But here each plat and lane and mound and wall Recalls the past: one retrospective glance Has drawn my shell from Memory's youthful sea> But should some bard arise to sing this spot With bolder harp, then, then the hand thai plays This lute of mme, of all the hands in town. For him wi.l be the first to weave the wreath And crown him well, as Aiqua's bard was crownM. Oh Town of Towns, once more, once more, adieu t O'er all thy space may heaven's best blessings fall From hills and streams that nobly gird thee round To thy most central rood of pavement stone ; Tn all thy kirks may choisest praise resound And virtiie ever ride in chariots bright, And prostrate vice beneath her glowing wheels. On Thee may Spring its earliest buds bestow And all thy gardens smile in summer bloom, And Autumn soon disperse its fading lints. And Winter soon dissolve its sparkling shroud. Thus may the seasons wind from age to age And all thy people be their happy guests, .'6 Borne round and rouni in this Arcadian world, 'I'here h^ve been bards who scornM the sacred spots Thcil gave them birlh; and Byron's hivvless liarp CharmM Pirates, Pachas, Turks, and gondoliers, Hut not old England's lanes, wherCji^easauls trim The good green hedge adorned with glossy flowers, And milkmaids sing along the grassy downs; But Western Greece composed his limbs to rest An J foreicrn hands look down his soldier plume And foreign guns annouiic'd his spirit's flight. But when my feet their pilgrim tasks have done And Diath tbe Huntsman shall his chase begin i<\)r Him who writes: at his first bugle sound Those feet would swiftly leave ihe mountain's blue And scour all woods and grounds that intervene To reach my youthful haunts ; and 1 would die Where gay and convex clouds still gently fall Round waves that backward send their balmy clouds^ To where they hang; whiJsi swans in double rows Pass up between the sky and tree green waves, And where the heavenly Arch runs softly round The town below, far out to sloping hills. Within this rounded temple let me die, And as when bruised the lowly violet yields Small grains of gold, so may my pensive fate Enrich the friends my heart has fondly loved, Ai.id add one spice of fiagrance to my native air! NOTES (i) "But what are Keswick, Ayr, or Ambleside?*, Keswick in the snire of Cumberland, was the residence of Southey, who shewed his sense in living three hundred miles irom London. The town is located in a vale near the river Greta, and the Poet's House was called Greta Hall. It gives me pleasure to know that any bard ever owned a Hall; and Southey left £12,000. The scenery about Kes\yick consisting of Lake and JMountain has been much admired, but not more so than that of our town. SSouthey wrote poetry in the shad- ow of Skiddaw whilst his neighbors were engaged in manu- facturing flarinfels. Burns was born about two miles irom the town of Ayr. The place is situated among sands and the people manufacture leather and soap, an employment rather Tinpoetical. Ambleside is a small town in Westmoreland where woolens are made. *Tis on the Rotha river which emp- ties into Windermere. The Rotha would make a poor show by the side of our Potomac. Rydal Mount, the cottage ot Wordsworthjis about two miles from Ambleside. Lord Byron was very caustic in his criticism upon the verses of Words- worth, and indeed many of them might be advantageously buried in the woollens of the town, or in the tomb of the C ap- ulets. At all events in this line we have only expressed the food affection which every man feels for his native spot. (3) ^'Resembled him who from the Yadkin went." Jol. George Beall was probably the first Settler of George- town. Hewas the son of Ninian, who came either from Fife- shire or I>iimbarton, and jWho settled on Patuxent. Our first settler bore, at least in his habits, some points of resemblance to Daniel Boone who was born a hundredyears before at Brig- 3 ' * 18 tol, onlfee Delaware but from thence went to the Peciee ofx. Yftdkin riverain South Carolina, so that in his emigration tfD Kentucky this bold adventurer had several mountains tocros^ (3) "Cheered in tlie day by swans, but all night long He heard the notes of pensive whip-poor-wills." ,f Potomac is said in the Indian language to mean "Kiver cf "Jvvans." Even of late years the writer has seen those beautif'il birds terminating their pilgrimage up the river at Analosfan Island. But it is piobdble that the Potomac received its name somewhere near its mouth, where the swans to this day are very numerous. The whippoorwill sjrgsall night^even now, contiguously to Georgetown. Its song is uniform. £s every ornithologist knows; but its speckles render it an interesting bird to the Poet. (4) ''A kind of golden age Through which our hamlet pass'd." All imaginative men are fond of anticipating some happy peviod of the world, or felicitous state of society never yet realised. This is strikingly exemplified in the Pollio of Vir- gil. This age.ii it ever arrive, will not begin in London, cr Pekin, or Canton, but in places less populous. Here, hawev- er, we have looked back to find such a time so far as our town is concerned. (5) "When upward rose Some blue-eyed German." The sentiment here expressed was suggested- by thwfaet that a German Church, was the first building of the kir^d reared in Georgetown. It stood up High street near our G^av^ yard. We are not displeased at the Dutch sprinkling over our place. G'.rmany is perhaps the most learned country. in the world, though not the most inventive and original. We are sorry to say that Goethe and Schiller were a couple of deists; but Klop- stock, who lived near Hambuig.wrote the poem called Mes- siah./' "The blue eyed German^' is an expression which oc- curs m Gerttude of Wyoming. (6) "The Scuti settled in a compact row." The colony of Scotch here spoken of, arrived in Georgetown in 1785. They were a valuable accession to our population. 19 They bought a row of lots and bailt on them. I used in my boyish days to delight in their conversation about Scotland. — Old Mrs. George Thompson died a year or two since consid- erably above eighty, a very excellent and venerabJe woman. — She had a warm heart and a Scottish imagination. Iiihe-bore prosperity without pride and, adversity willio.ut murmuring, — David English has lately told me that old Scotch Row has been condemned by the Corporation, and ordered to be torn doWn. This may be right; but the Phce'iix will arise from its ashes. The raosigracelul works of Art have perished at Athens, but my cherished recollections of Scotch row are beyond the pow- tT of any municipal authority. 7) ''And his sepulchral rites were duly done," ^ In the close of the Poem, the writer has expressed . a' wish to be buried in the place of his nativity. He" is inclined to retract this wish, however, when he remembers the kind of cemeteries in which people are buried in Georgetown, for in them taste is woefully wanting. We do rot see why George- town cannot lay off' as neat a cemetery as Boston or Philadel- }>hia. Col. Morton and the writer have more than once talked over this matter. ♦ (8) "But from that home my Muse waves off her The reason why the Muse is so shy about the Manse jbi^j et when the writer publiEhed his Chronicles some years since the wiseacres ol Georgetown thought that too much was said about that house. This may be true; but in that species of writing it is usual to fix on the simplest objects. Lvery one knows that Oliver Goldsmith has written of his brother's Rec- tory at Lishoy, in Ireland, which Col. Napier's improve- ments probably destroyed. Lord Nelson and Addison were born in a Rectory and so was John Wesley. Crabbe, L. Rich- mond, and Covvper all wrote in such establishments. JBut the English Rectory is not so interesting as the Scottish Manse, for reasons which it is needless to give at present.— Robertson, the Historian, was reared in one of these lowly dwellings in Scotland; and the same is true of Thopipson, Armstrong, and Mickle, the translator of the Luciad. Butthe writer does not intend to answer any objections to this Poem. If the people are pleased, the writer would be gratified, but their displeasure is something which he can't help. It is unusual we admit, at the end of a Poem to append any thing in the shape of a dedication, but since writing it, we have seen a circum- stance stated in the papers which has determined us to in- scribe this slight ellusioD, the producti9n of a leisure week, To VV. W. CORCORAN, E«Q. SiR:-<^Though we were born and reared in the same town, some disparity in years may be the reason why oar 'acquaintance has been entirely transient. But yo^r munifkent donation of $10,000 to the poor of Georgetown has won my admiration. The investment reflects the highest credit on your understanding, and in consequence of it, the Author of this Poem requests /OH to accept it as a tribute of his respect. It would add much to the happiness of the place if all its natives who shall be crowned with prosperity would aid its ^ublic Institutions. In this respect you have set a vobieeiample to be imitated, we hope, in future time. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HH 015 785 425 2