The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 63

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._ _From the 9th to the 15th inst._

_Thermometor observed at 6, A.M. 3, P.M._ _Prevailing winds._ _OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER._

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.

100 100 Oct. 9 43 55 ne. s. clear, light wind do. do.

10 37 50 51 ne. do. clear, lht. wd. cloudy do.

11 48 55 75 ne. se. cloudy lt. wd. do. do.

12 46 58 n. se. clear lt. wd. do. do.

13 55 66 ne. se. foggy light wind calm do.

14 55 70 75 w. s. cloudy light wind clear calm 15 53 61 50 n s. foggy calm clear light wind

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

LA FAYETTE----A SONG.

By William Bradford, Esq.

Late Attorney General of the United States.

As beside his cheerful fire, 'Midst his happy family, Sat a venerable sire, Tears were starting in his eye; Selfish blessings were forgot Whilst he thought on Fayette's lot, Once so happy on our plains, Now in poverty and chains.

Fayette (cried he) honoured name, Dear to these far distant sh.o.r.es: Fayette, fired by Freedom's flame, Bled to make that freedom ours; What, alas! for thee remains, What, but poverty and chains!

Soldiers, in the field of death, Was not Fayette foremost there?

Cold and shivering on the heath, Did you not his bounty share?

What for this your friend remains, What, but poverty and chains!

Born to honours, ease, and wealth, See him sacrifice them all, Sacrificing even health, At his country's glorious call.

What reward for this remains, What, but poverty and chains!

Hapless Fayette! 'midst thy error, How my soul thy worth reveres; Son of Freedom, tyrant's terror, Hero of both hemispheres.

What, alas! for thee remains, What, but poverty and chains!

Thus with laurels on his brow, Belisarius begged for bread; Thus, from Carthage forced to go, Hannibal an exile fled: Fayette thus, at once sustains, Exile, poverty, and chains!

Courage, child of Washington, Though thy fate disastrous seems, We have seen the setting sun Rise and shine with brighter beams; Thy country soon shall break thy chain, And take thee to her arms again.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

When the Author of the following Elegy finds it is committed to print, he will not, I am persuaded, be offended, after I remind him of the conversation we had some time since:--And also when he reflects on the injury he does the Public, by keeping any of his productions from their view.

ELEGY Addressed to the Calliopean Society, on the Death of Doctor Joseph Youle.

Within these walls let awful stillness reign: _Sorrow_, thy louder extacies restrain: Each sound that on the solemn scene would break Be hush'd----let Silence more emphatic speak.

Ev'n thou, upon thy pensive lyre reclin'd, (Dark cypress with thy drooping laurel twin'd,) Our guardian Muse! let not a trembling note Through the still air in plaintive sweetness float; Save when Affliction's deep collected sigh Low breathing in symphonious melody, With faint vibrations agitates the chords, While Friendship's mourning voice our lot records.

On the cold couch of death our brother sleeps;-- Chill o'er his grave the gale of midnight sweeps.

Oh, Death! if 'tis thy glory to destroy The fairest opening bud of human joy; If 'tis thy boast severely to display And wide diffuse the terrors of thy sway, High o'er this grave thy proudest trophy rear, And tell with exultation _who lies here_.

Ye whom _Philanthropy_ benignant guides, Ye in whose hearts fair _Piety_ presides, Children of genius, friends of _Science_, come, With silent step approach the hallow'd tomb.---- _He was your brother_----generous was his mind, Warm with benevolence to all mankind.

Gently to raise affliction's drooping head, To comfort sickness on the lonely bed, To lead the ignorant in virtue's way, On the dark mind to pour instruction's ray, The paths of science to extend and smooth, And wide diffuse the genial light of truth; These were his objects, these his n.o.ble pride; For these he labour'd, and for these he died.

And ye whose virtuous efforts here combine To cultivate those faculties divine, _Friendship_ and _Science_ breathe a deeper sigh-- He was _your_ brother by a dearer tie: With you he trod the same delightful road; For you his heart with love peculiar glow'd.

Can you forget how many social hours Derived new joys from his instructive pow'rs?

Can you upon these scenes look back unmoved, Scenes, where, so oft, delighted and improv'd, Attention fondly on his accents dwelt, And every breast the warmth of friendship felt; While Fancy, led by Hope, the theme pursu'd, And future prospects more delightful view'd?

Fancy! where now are thy illusive dreams?

Where, Hope! thy visions bright with golden gleams?

Friendship, thy prospects?--Fame, thy laureate wreath?

All past----all faded in the shades of Death.

'Tis past--the sigh is breath'd, the tear is shed, The last sad tribute to a brother dead.-- _Our loss_ demands--receives the mournful strain: Let sounds of triumph celebrate _his gain_.

the _Spirit_, starting from its bonds of clay, Traces with Angel guides the lucid way; Exalted notes from harps celestial rise, And _kindred spirits_ hail him to the skies.

_There_, Earth's embarra.s.sments no more controul The great exertions of the active soul:-- By weak humanity no more confin'd, Enlarg'd, enlarging still, his opening mind; With strength encreasing through creation soars, Infinite s.p.a.ce, eternal times explores; More nearly contemplates the great _First Cause_, More clearly comprehends his sacred laws; With _Newton_ darts among the Worlds of light, Systems on systems blazing on his sight; With Franklin, mitigates the whirlwind's force, Averts the lightning's flash, and turns the thunder's course; Or joins with extacy the holy throng Who to Jehovah's throne exalt the song, Shout the loud victory o'er the bounds of earth, And joyful celebrate their heavenly birth.

Is this a subject for the plaints of woe?

Can friendship _here_ the tear of grief bestow?

No----elevated by the glorious theme, We hope, ere long, to die---to rise, like him, To join with transport his celestial flight, Again to meet him in those realms of light Where widow'd friendship ceases to deplore, Affection feels the parting pang no more, Hush'd is the sigh of grief--the groan of pain, And Virtue dwells with Joy in everlasting reign.

_A +Lady+ having received a Bouquet from a +Boy+, sent him the following Verses._

Next your dear image in my breast, Your fancied flowers I fondly plac'd, But mourn my adverse fate, Who by compulsive atoms hurl'd, Was forc'd so soon into this world, Where you arrived too late.

_The ANSWER, by a Friend of the BOY._

Permit me, dear madam, to tell you you've err'd In this hardy censure on Fate, Which though my arrival is somewhat deferr'd, By no means has sent me too late.

Here Providence wisely has acted its part, Well knowing, or I'm much mistaken, That Woman, however she may have the start, Would willingly be overtaken.

EPITAPH ON MR. W---- N----

Poor N---- beneath this stone A quiet nap is taking, His wife requests you may not moan, For fear of his awaking.

NEW-YORK: _+Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street+, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.--+Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCh.e.l.l, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane._