Gazette Of The United States, & Philadelphia Daily Advertiser

From the Farmer's Weekly Museum.

From the Shop of Messrs. Colon & Spondee.

Address to Della Crusca, humbly attempted in the sublime style of that fashionable author.

O THOU,

WHO, with thy blue cerulean blaze
Hast circled Europe's brow with love-lorn praise;
Whose magic pen its gelid lightning throws,
Is now a sunbeam, now a fragrant rose.
Child of the dappled spring, whose green delight
Drinks, with her honey-drop lips, the dewy light.
Son of the summer's bland prolific rays,
Who sheds her loveliest treasure in thy lays;
Who swells her golden lips to trump thy name,
Which sinks to whispers, at thy azure fame.
Brown autumn nursed thee with her dulcet dews,
And buried winter rocked thy cradled muse.

SEASONS AND SUNS, AND SPANGLED SYSTEMS ROLL,
Like atoms vast, beneath thy cloud-capt soul.
Time wings its panting flight in hurried chase,
But sinks in dew-dropped languor in the IMMORTAL RACE.

O THOU,

Whose soul the rocky Britain mourns;
Whose white cliffs tremble, when thy GENIUS storms.
The yellow Afric, with her curled domains,
And purpled Asia with her muslin plains,
And surges Europe—vain—thy soul confined
WHICH FILLS ALL SPACE—AND E'EN MATILDA'S MIND!

Anna's capacious mind, which all agree,
Contained a wilderness of woods in thee.
More happy thou than Macedonia's Lord,
Who wept for worlds to feed his famished word,
Fatigued by Attic conquest of the old,
Fortune to thee a novel WORLD unfolds,

Come mighty Conqueror, thy foes disperse;
Let loose 'thy epithets,' THOSE DOGS OF VERSE;
Draw forth thy gorgeous word of damasked rhyme,
And ride triumphant through Columbia's clime,
Till sober lettered sense shall dying smile,
Before the mighty magic of thy style.

What tawny tribes in dusky forest wait,
To grace the ovation of thy victor state.
What ochred chiefs, vermillioned by the word,
Marked by thy epithets, shall own thee lord!
The punic Creek, and nigrified Choctaw,
The high boned Wabash, and bland Hanging Maw;
Great Little Billy, Piamingo brave,
with pity's dew drops, wet M'Gilvray's grave.

What sonorous streams meander through thy lays,
What lakes shall bless thy rich bequest of praise.
Rough Hockhocking, and gentle Chicago,
The two Miamis—placid Scioto.

How will Chig roll his lordly stream,
What blue mists dance upon the liquid scene,
Gods how sublime shall Della Crusca rage,
WHEN ALL NIAGARA CATARACTS THY PAGE!

What arts! What arms unknown, to thee belong!
what ruddy scalps shall deck thy sanguine song!
What sunny calumets scent the ambient air,
What lovelorn Warhoops, CAPITALS declare.

Cerulean tomahawks shall grace each line,
And blue-eyed wampum glisten thro' thy rhyme.

Rise Della Crusca prince of bards sublime,
And pour on us whole cataracts of rhyme.

Son of the sun arise, whose brightest rays,
All merge to tapers in thy igneous blaze.

Like some Colossus, stride the Atlantic o'er,
A LEG OF GENIUS place on either shore,
Extend thy red right arm to either world
Be the proud standard of thy style unfurled;

Proclaim thy sounding page, from shore to shore,
And wear that sense in verse, shall be no more.

DELLATANKEE