THE ARETHUSA. TUNE-"The Princess Royal." COME all ye jolly sailors bold, Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould, Huzza to the Arethusa ! To their fav'rite launch; 'Twas with the spring fleet she went out, The fam'd Belle Poole straight a-head did lie, Not a sheet or a tack, Or a brace did she slack, Tho' the Frenchmen laugh'd, and thought it stuff; But they knew not the handful of men how tough On board of the Arethusa. On deck five hundred men did dance, Our Captain hail'd the Frenchmen, Ho! To our Admiral's lee: No, no, says the Frenchmen, that can't be. The fight was off the Frenchmen's land, And now we've driven the foe ashore, To his favourite lass; A health to our Captain and officers true, THE DECEITFUL MAID. WHEN Charles was deceiv'd by the maid he lov'd, He sung, as he pac'd the dark deck over, Blow, wind, blow! thou art not so cold As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover!" Yet he liv'd with the happy, and seem'd to be gay, He sung, as if sorrow had plac'd him above her, "Frown, Fate, frown! thou art not so rude As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover!" At length his career found a close in death, The close he long wish'd to his cheerless roving, For Victory shone on his latest breath, And he died in a cause of his heart's approving. But still he remember'd his sorrow,-and still As the heart of the maid that deceiv'd her lover!" THE WILLOW TREE. Он, take me to your arms, my love, She hears me not, she cares not, My love has wealth and beauty, The ribbon fair that bound her hair, I once had gold and silver, My wealth is lost, my friend is false, Beneath the willow tree. BONAPARTE'S FAREWELL. TUNE-" Captain O'Kean.” FAREWELL to the land, where the gloom of my glory Farewell to thee, France-when thy diadem crowned me, Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted In strife with the storm, when their battles were won,Then the eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, Had still soared with eyes fixed on victory's sun! Farewell to thee, France-but when liberty rallies Though withered, thy tears will unfold it again— Then turn thee, and call on the chief of thy choice! * * It will probably be known to the most of our readers that these admirable verses are from the pen of Lord Byron. They were written, and first made their appearance in the public prints, at the time when Napoleon was in Plymouth sound, on board the Bellerophon. There is no doubt that the Noble author intended (for he has said as much to his friends) merely to depict what he F conceived might be Bonaparte's sentiments and feelings on leaving that country he had so long governed, and not to embody his own feelings and regrets on the occasion; and few will deny that he has succeeded most happily. To those who have paid but an ordinary attention to the bold, decisive, and romantic character of the man who could be subdued only by the united powers of all Europe, in alliance with the storms and frosts of a Russian winter, it will appear, that the sentiments here put into his mouth by the poet, are all in perfect unison with the most prominent traits in that character; and that even the language, (the ryhme, of course, being left out of the question) is such as he was in the habit of using every day. We are not certain whether the generality of our readers entertain similar opinions with ourselves respecting this extraordinary character. One thing, however, must be pretty obvious to the most of them, and that is, that the mists of political prejudice which caused him to be regarded by many as the most detestable monster in existence, are now gradually dispersing; and mankind are beginning to blush for their former credulity, and to look mighty silly at having been so easily deceived. On this account we are certain that we need not apologize to any of our readers for laying before them the following philosophical attempt, by a writer of considerable eminence, to ascertain the proper medium through which the character of Bonaparte ought to be estimated, and the causes of those piques, prejudices, or antipathies, which have hitherto, in a greater or a less degree, influenced every one, who has formed any judgment at all of his character, "It is a trite observation, that no true judgment is formed of a man but by history and posterity, and that the only way to get at something of their truth is to try and reach their dispassionateness. How far they themselves make mistakes, is another question; but the observation still holds good. Now what has hindered a dispassionate judgment of Bonaparte, in these times, is still more connected with violent and predisposing causes than usual. It is self-love perhaps that leads or misleads us at all times in our opinions of others; but this principle has been doubly intense in influencing the judgment on Bonaparte, let it have been what it might. All powerful enemies excite parties for and |