R,

KNIGHT OF THE IMPERIAL ORDER OF ST. JOACHIM,

_Upon his approaching Nuptials with the Princess Shebatoff_.

To save the credit of the dame,
Poets and painters all agree
That Mistress Fortune cannot see,
And on her bandage cast the blame;

When honours on th' unworthy wait,
When riches to the wealthy flow,
When high desert, oppress'd by woe,
Is left to struggle on with Fate.

But, Porter! when on thee she smil'd,
The fillet from her eyes she mov'd,
To view the merit all approv'd--
A mind inform'd, a heart unsoil'd.

She saw thy virtues bright appear;
A son that mothers seldom know,
A brother with affection's glow,
The soldier brave[A], the friend sincere.

With honours then thy name she grac'd,
And call'd on Love to bless thy arms
With princely rank, with Virtue's charms,
And all the pow'rs of wit and taste.

[Footnote A: Sir R.K. Porter was attached to the staff in the late
campaign in Spain, and was in nearly every engagement with the enemy.]

THE FOLLOWING LINES IN FRENCH,

_Are inscribed upon the Pedestal of a Statue of Cupid_,

IN A GARDEN AT UTRECHT.

_ORIGINAL_.

N'offrant qu'un coeur a la Beaute,
Nud comme la Verite,
Sans armes comme l'Innocence,
Sans ailes comme la Constance,
Tel fut l'Amour dans le siecle d'or,
On ne le trouve plus, quoiqu'on le cherche encore.

_TRANSLATION_.

To Beauty give your heart, your sighs,
No other off'ring will she prize;
As Truth should unadorn'd appear,
Behold! the god is naked here!
Like Innocence, he has no arms
But those of sweet, of native, charms;
No wish or pow'r has he to fly,
Like thy pure spirit, Constancy!
Such in the golden age was Love;
But now, oh! whither does he rove?

THE RHINGAU SONG.

This is the favourite Song with the Inhabitants of the vine-covered
Region of the Rhingau, an extensive District along the Banks of the
Rhine, where the finest Wines are produced.

_ORIGINAL_.

Bekrantzt mit laub den liebe vollen becher,
Und trinkt ihn froelich leer;
In Gauz Europa ihr herren zecher,
Ist solch, ein wein micht mehr.

Ihn bringt das vaterland aus seiner fulle,
Wie waer er sonst so gut?
Wie waer er sonst so edel, stille,
Und doch voll kraft und muth?

Am Rhein, am Rhein, da wachsen unsre reben:
Gesegnet sey der Rhein!
Da wachsen sie am ufer hin, und geben
Uns diesen labe wein.

So trinkt ihn dann, und lasst uns alle wege
Uns freun, und