"O! well-remember'd day,
When on yon bank she lay,

Meek in her pride, and in her rigor mild;
The young and blooming flowers,
Falling in fragrant showers,

Shone on her neck, and on her bosom smil'd;
Some on her mantle hung,

Some in her locks were strung,

Like orient gems in rings of flaming gold;
Some, in a spicy cloud

Descending, call'd aloud,

'Here Love and Youth the reins of empire hold.'
I view'd the heavenly maid,

And, wrapt in wonder, said,

'The groves of Eden gave this angel birth ;'
Her look, her voice, her smile,

That might all heaven beguile,

Wafted my soul above the realms of earth;

The star-bespangled skies

Were open'd to my eyes;

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Sighing I said, 'Whence rose this glittering scene?'
Since that auspicious hour,

This bank and odorous bower,

My morning couch, and evening haunt, have been.
Well mayst thou blush, my song,

To leave the rural throng,

And fly thus artless to my Laura's ear;

But, were thy poet's fire

Ardent as his desire,

Thou wert a song that heaven might stoop to hear."

Through every day of his life, after this time, she was his muse, and constantly inspired his lays. He did not feel the passion as in the least degree criminal; and, considering the customs of society in that age, it was not so. He made no struggle to subdue his feelings. Over her bier the lover breathed his grief, in strains which have come down to us, and which are now as fresh as if they came from the heart this hour, for they are true to nature. Many poets have attempted to infuse into a translation a portion of the pure spirit which is found in the original of Petrarch, but few of them have, in any tolerable degree, succeeded. There is something so kindred to love in the soft tones of the Italian muse, that it is almost impossible to impart it to another language. It was reserved for Sir William Jones, at once to do justice to Petrarch, and at the same time,

to prove our own language to be as susceptible of poetical beauties as any other. The amatory poets, as a class, from Anacreon himself to Anacreon Moore, have been of but little service to mankind If they assisted to refine the world in the first instance, they have since done quite as much to mislead it. The passions are often inflamed by the amatory poet, without his imparting one lesson to guide the heart or direct the imagination. The love sonnets of Petrarch are, however, an exception to these remarks, as some others may be. Not that we would chill the sweet influences of love; our wish would be only to regulate and restrain them. To destroy the passion would be to immolate the imagination, and to degrade the character of man. Fancy could not exist without love, any more than the earth could produce flowers and fruits, without the elemental fires which pervade all animated nature.

This passion is often more rich in thought, tender in feeling, and profitable to mankind, in its griefs than in its joys. The mind, penetrated with the loss of a beloved object, seeks relief in visions of futurity; and in every flight to the skies, brings to earth some divine consolation to assuage the pangs of a wounded spirit, and to bind up the broken heart. The elegiac muse is known to every language, in every age, when there have been hearts to beat or beauties to die. She has mingled her notes with those of all the sisters. In the pathway of the bridal train the hearse is met; in the pictures of life are the emblems of death; and the Assyrian maids placed the tomb of their lost Adonis in the groves and gardens of LOVE.

Their loves, however unmanly in the hopeless lover, perhaps did no harm. If this romantic affection had not been cherished by Petrarch, we should never have had any of his delightful poems. He would have figured, no doubt, among the thousand gallants and fashionables of that day, in the corrupt courts, to which he had access, and where he was a great favorite, and then have passed away, like other insects, that flutter about and display their wings for a summer hour. From every life a lesson may be learned, and even the dreams of the lover may afford subjects for the deep contemplation of the philosopher.

MARGARET LAMBRUN, a Scotch woman, in the service of Mary, queen of Scots, as was also her husband, who dying for grief for the sad catastrophe of that unfortunate princess, his wife took the resolution of revenging the death both, of one and the other, upon Queen Elizabeth. With this view, she put on man's apparel, and assuming the name of Anthony Sparke, went to court, carrying always about her a pair of pistols, one to kill the queen, and the other herself, in order to escape justice. One day, as she was pushing through the crowd, to come up to her majesty, who was walking in her garden, she chanced to drop one of her pistols, which, being seen by the guard, she was seized, in order to be sent to prison; but the queen, not suspecting her to be one of her own sex, had a mind to examine her first. She was accordingly ordered into the presence of the queen, who demanded her name, country, and quality. Margaret, with undaunted firmness, replied, "Madam, though I appear in this habit, I am a woman; my name is Margaret Lambrun. I was several years in the service of Queen Mary, whom you have so unjustly put to death; you have also caused that of my husband. Now, as I had the greatest love and affection for both, I resolved, at the peril of my life, to revenge their deaths, by killing you, who were the cause of both. I confess, that I have suffered many struggles within my breast, and have made all possible efforts to divert my resolution from this design, but all in vain, I found myself necessitated to prove the truth of that maxim, that neither reason nor force, can hinder a woman from vengeance, when she is impelled thereto by love." The queen heard this discourse and said, "You are then persuaded that in this action, you have done your duty, and satisfied the demands which your love for your mistress and spouse indispensably required of you, what think you now my duty is toward you?" The woman replied with the same intrepidity, "I will tell your majesty my opinion, provided you will please to let me know whether you put this into the quality of a queen or that of a judge?" To which her majesty answered, “In that of a queen." "Then," returned she, "You ought to grant me a pardon." "But what assurance or security can you give me,

that you will not make the like attempt on some other occasion ?" Margaret replied, “Madam, a favor which is given under such restraints, is no more a favor; and in so doing, your majesty would act against me as a judge." The queen, turning to some of her council, said, "I have been thirty years a queen, but do not remember ever to have had such a lecture read to me before;" and immediately granted a full pardon, against the opinion of her council, and at her request, a safe conduct out of the kingdom.

LOUISA LABBE, La Belle Cordiere, born at Lyons, 1527, is celebrated for her beauty, her talents, and her heroism. She discovered an early predilection for letters and the arts; her taste for martial exercises is a still more singular trait in her character. At sixteen years of age she left her studies, to follow either a father or a lover to the seige of Perpignan, where she gave proofs of her courage and military skill. Soon after this expedition, she married Ennemond Perrin, a merchant possessed of considerable property, who traded principally in cordage, and who resided on his estate, near Lyons, in a house elegantly furnished, to which belonged spacious and elegant gardens; these gardens joined a place called La Belle Cour, near which a street was afterwards built, named La Belle Cordiere, in honor of Louisa. Her house, in which she formed a large library of the best authors, became the resort of men of letters, and persons of distinction, who resided in or near Lyons. In these societies, over which Louisa presided as the inspiring muse, every thing was collected which could gratify the understanding, delight the imagination, or captivate the senses. The charms, the talents, the assemblies of La Belle Cordiere, excited jealousy, and provoked scandal among the ladies of Lyons; the writings of Louisa, which breathed liberality, or, which satirized the frivolity and envy of her adversaries, afforded a new provocation to their vengeance. Women of virtue often risk much by unguarded manners. The envious are eager to seize the most innocent freedoms of those who are their superiors in beauty, talents, acquirements, or good fortune,

LUCRETIA, a celebrated Roman lady, daughter of Lucretius, and wife of Tarquinius Collatinus. Her accomplishments proved fatal to her, and the praises which a number of young nobles at Ardea, among whom were Collatinus and the sons of Tarquin, bestowed upon the domestic virtues of their wives at home, was productive of a revolution in the state. While every one was warm with the idea, it was universally agreed to leave the camp and to go to Rome, to ascertain the veracity of their respective assertions. Collatinus had the pleasure of seeing his expectations fulfilled in the highest degree, and, while the wives of the other Romans were involved in the riot and dissipation of a feast, Lucretia was found at home, employed in the midst of her female servants, and easing their labor by sharing it herself. The beauty and innocence of Lucretia inflamed the passion of Sextus, the son of Tarquin, who was a witness of her virtues and industry. He cherished this flame, and secretly retired from the camp and came to the house of Lucretia, where he met with a kind reception. He showed himself unworthy of such treatment, and, in the dead of night, he introduced himself to Lucretia, who refused to his entreaties what her fear of shame granted to his threats. She yielded to her ravisher, when he threatened to murder her, and to slay one of her slaves and put him in her bed, that this apparent adultery might seem to have met with the punishment it deserved. Lucretia, in the morning, sent for her husband and her father, and, after she had revealed to them the indignities she had suffered from the son of Tarquin, and entreated them to avenge her wrongs, she stabbed herself with a dagger, which she had previously concealed under her clothes. This fatal blow was the sign of rebellion. The body of the virtuous Lucretia was exposed to the eyes of the senate, and the violence and barbarity of Sextus, joined with the unpopularity and oppression of his father, so irritated the Roman populace, that that moment they expelled the Tarquins for ever from Rome. Brutus, who was present at the tragical death of Lucretia, kindled the flames of rebellion, and the republican or consular government was established at Rome, A. U. C. 244.

For more than twenty-three hundred years, Lucretia has been