  May 28, 1798. In a former number, we were enabled, by the communication of a classical correspondent, to compliment Citizen Muskein with an Address to his Gun-boats, imitated from a favourite Ode of Horace. Another (or perhaps the same) hand has obligingly furnished us with a composition, which we have no doubt will be equally acceptable to the citizen to whom it is addressed. ODE TO THE DIRECTOR MERLIN.
HORACE, B. I., O. V. Who now from Naples, Rome, or Berlin, Creeps to thy blood-stained den, O Merlin, With diplomatic gold?—to whom Dost thou give audience en costume? King Citizen!—How sure each state That bribes thy love shall feel thy hate; Shall see the democratic storm Her commerce, laws, and arts deform. How credulous, to hope the bribe Could purchase peace from Merlin’s tribe! Whom, faithless as the waves or wind, No oaths restrain, no treaties bind. For us—beneath yon SACRED ROOF, The Naval Flags and arms of proof, By British valour nobly bought, Show how true safety must be sought! [Thiers, in his History of the French Revolution, frequently asserts the incorruptibility (with the exception of Barras) of the French Directory. But Alison, in his History, exposes the extraordinary conduct of M. de Talleyrand, then Minister of Foreign Affairs, towards the Envoys from the United States of America, who complained that an immense number of American vessels had been seized by the French Government under a decree of Jan., 1798, which directed that all ships having for their cargoes, in whole or in part, any English merchandise, should be held lawful prize, whoever was the proprietor thereof, from the single circumstance of its coming from England or its foreign settlements. The Envoys were told that nothing could be done till their Government had advanced a sum equal to 1,280,000l. as a loan, and 50,000l. as a douceur to the Directors. These terms were, of course, indignantly rejected. The Hanse Towns, too, only obtained licenses to navigate the high seas by the secret payment of 150,000l. to the Republican rulers.—Ed.] [LYRICS OF HORACE. BOOK I., ODE V. TRANSLATED BY ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM. What slender youth, all essenced o’er, In sweet alcove or rosy bower, Now woos thee, Pyrrha, to be kind? For whom these tresses dost thou bind, Thus simply neat? O how shall he, Poor youth! bewail the boisterous sea, Rough with black tempests! How accuse Capricious Gods, and broken vows! Fond dupe! he hopes—so sweet that kiss— Thou’lt still be witching, still be his! What treacherous gales beset his way, Ah! little knows he! Hapless they, Who ne’er thy faithless smiles have tried! —That I have ’scaped the whelming tide, A tablet and my dripping vest, Hung up in Neptune’s fane, attest.—Ed.]
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