[THE FOLLOWING IS A TRANSLATION, BY DUNCOMBE, of HORACE'S ODE TO FORTUNE,

Of which the above Ode is a parody.

O GODDESS, whose propitious sway
Thy Antium's favourite sons obey;
Whose voice from depth of woe recalls
The wretch, and triumphs turns to funerals;
From Thee, rich crops the needy swain
Implores. Thee, sovereign of the main,
The mariner invokes, who braves

In a Bithynian bark the Cretan waves;

Thee, Scythians, wandering far and near,
And unrelenting Dacians, fear:

The warlike sons of Italy;

Cities, and realms, and empires, worship Thee.

Mothers of barbarous monarchs dread,
And purple tyrants, lest thou tread
With spurning foot, and scatter round

The sculptured column on th' encumbered ground;
And lest the fickle crowd should break

Their bonds; and with loud clamours wake
The peaceful to assert their right

By force of arms, and quell usurping might.

Ruthless necessity prepares

The way for Thee; and ever bears

Huge nails in her strong hands of brass
The wedge, the hook, and lead's hot molten mass.
Thee Hope and white robed Faith, adore,
So rarely found!-She, when no more
Thou smil'st, attends the fallen great
Stript of his gay attire and stately seat.

But venal crowds and harlots fly:
And, if the flowing casks are dry,
When to the dregs the wine they drink,

From friendship's yoke the false associates shrink.

Thy aid for Cæsar Rome implores,

Conduct him safe to Britain's shores,

The limits of the world; and lead

Our new-raised bands against the trembling Mede.

Alas! we mourn our crimes, our scar
And brethren slain in civil wars:

How oft have Roman youth embrued
Their savage hands in streams of social blood!

What has this Iron Age not dared?

What Gods revered? What Altars spared?
O point again the blunted steel,

And let the Massagete our vengeance feel!-ED.]

THE following Song is recommended to be sung at all Convivial Meetings, convened for the purpose of opposing the Assessed-Tax Bill. The correspondent who has transmitted it to us informs us that he has tried it with great success among many of his well-disposed neighbours, who had been at first led to apprehend that the 1-20th part of their income was too great a sacrifice for the preservation of the remainder of their property from French Confiscation, You have heard of REWBELL,*

That demon of hell,

*

And of BARRAS, his brother Director;

[*The above verses refer to the memorable events of the 18th Fructidor, Sept. 4, 1797 (the model of Prince Louis Napoléon's coup d'état, Dec. 2, 1851), when Rewbell, Barras, and Larévellière-Lepaux, on the plea that the Republic was in danger, got rid of their fellow-directors, Carnot (grandfather to the present President of the French Republic) and Barthélemy, who were replaced by Merlin and François de Neufchateau, dispersed by military force the members of the Five Hundred and the Ancients, fifty-three of whom were condemned to transportation-banished the editors, &c., of forty-two newspapers-annulled the elections of forty-eight departmentsand effected other arbitrary measures without opposition. The springs of the movement were throughout directed by Buonaparte, seconded by Hoche and Augereau. This event was the true era of the commencement of military despotism in France. But THIERS considers "the Directory by these means prevented civil war, and substituted an arbitrary but necessary act of power, carried out with energy, but with all the mildness and moderation that revolutionary times would allow ".—ED.]

Of the canting LEPAUX,

And that scoundrel MOREAU,

Who betray'd his old friend and protector.

Would you know how these friends,

For their own private ends,

Do

Would subvert our Religion and Throne?— you doubt of their skill

To change Laws at their will ?—

You shall hear how they treated their own.

'Twas their pleasure to look,

In a little blue book,

At the Code of their famed legislation, That with truth they might say,

In the space of one day

They had broke every Law of the Nation.

When REWBELL exclaim'd in a fury—

"On a method we'll fall

For infringing them all

We'll seize on each Printer and Member:

No period so fit

For a desperate hit,

As our bloody month of September.

"We'll annul each election

Which wants our correction,

And name our own creatures instead.

When once we've our will,

No blood we will spill,

(But let CARNOT be knock'd on the head).

"To Rochefort we'll drive

Our victims alive,

And as soon as on board we have got 'em, Since we destine the ship

For no more than one trip,

We can just make a hole in the bottom.

"By this excellent plan,

On the true Rights of Man,

When we've founded our fifth Revolution, Though England's our foe,

An army shall go

To improve HER corrupt Constitution.

"We'll address to the Nation

A fine Proclamation

With offers of friendship so warm:

Who can give BUONAPARTE

A welcome so hearty

As the friends of a THOROUGH REFORM?"

No. X.

Jan. 15, 1798.

FOR the two following poems we are indebted to unknown correspondents. They could not have reached us at a more seasonable period.

The former, we trust, describes the feelings common to every inhabitant of this country. The second, we know too well, is expressive of the sentiments of our enemies.

LINES,

WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR 1797.

LOUD howls the storm along the neighbouring shore;
BRITAIN indignant hears the frantic roar:

Her generous sons pour forth on every side,
Firm in their country's cause-their country's pride!
See wild Invasion threats this envied land:

Swift to defend her, springs each Social Band :
Her white rocks echoing to their cheerful cry,
"GOD AND OUR KING!"-" ENGLAND AND VICTORY!"

Yes! happy BRITAIN, on thy tranquil coast
No trophies mad Philosophy shall boast!
Though thy disloyal sons, a feeble band,
Sound the loud blast of treason through the land;
Scoff at thy dangers with unnatural mirth,
And execrate the soil which gave them birth;
With jaundiced eye thy splendid triumphs view,
And give to FRANCE the palm to BRITAIN due: