The first I shall produce is from a foreign poet, M.l'Abbe Lisle.

This gentleman has concluded his 'Les Jardins' with an encomium on Captain Cook, of which the following lines are a translation: "Give, give me flowers: with garlands of renown Those glorious exiles' brows my hands shall crown, Who nobly sought on distant coasts to find, Or thither bore those arts that bless mankind: Thee chief, brave Cook, o'er whom, to nature dear, With Britain, Gallia drops the pitying tear.
To foreign climes and rude, where nought before Announced our vessels but their cannons' roar, Far other gifts thy better mind decreed, The sheep, the heifer, and the stately steed; The plough, and all thy country's arts; the crimes Atoning thus of earlier savage times.
With peace each land thy bark was wont to hail, And tears and blessings fill'd thy parting sail.
Receive a stranger's praise; nor, Britain, thou Forbid these wreaths to grace thy Hero's brow, Nor scorn the tribute of a foreign song, For Virtue's sons to every land belong: And shall the Gallic Muse disdain to pay The meed of worth, when Louis leads the way?
But what avail'd, that twice thou daredst to try The frost-bound sea, and twice the burning sky, That by winds, waves, and every realm revered, Safe, only safe, thy sacred vessel steer'd; That war for thee forgot its dire commands The world's great friend, ah! bleeds by savage hands." There have not been wanting elegant writers of our own country, who have embraced with pleasure the opportunities that have offered of paying a tribute of praise to Captain Cook.

The ingenious and amiable Miss Hannah More has lately seized an occasion of celebrating the humane intentions of the captain's discoveries.
"Had those advent'rous spirits, who explore Through ocean's trackless wastes, the far-sought shore Whether of wealth insatiate, or of power, Conquerors who waste, or ruffians who devour: Had these possess'd, O Cook! thy gentle mind, Thy love of arts, thy love of humankind; Had these pursu'd thy mild and lib'ral plan, _Discoverers_ had not been a curse to man! Then, bless'd Philanthropy! thy social hands Had link'd dissever'd worlds in brothers' bands; Careless, if colour, or if clime divide; Then lov'd and loving, man had liv'd, and died." Soon after the account arrived in England of Captain Cook's decease, two poems were published in celebration of his memory; one of which was an Ode, by a Mr.Fitzgerald, of Gray's Inn.

But the first, both in order of time and of merit, was an Elegy, by Miss Seward, whose poetical talents have been displayed in many beautiful instances to the public.

This lady, in the beginning of her poem, has admirably represented the principal of humanity by which the captain was actuated in his undertakings.
"Ye, who ere while for Cook's illustrious brow Pluck'd the green laurel and the oaken bough, Hung the gay garlands on the trophied oars, And pour'd his fame along a thousand shores.
Strike the slow death-bell!--weave the sacred verse, And strew the cypress o'er his honour'd hearse; In sad procession wander round the shrine, And weep him mortal, whom ye sung divine! "Say first, what Pow'r inspir'd his dauntless breast With scorn of danger, and inglorious rest, To quit imperial London's gorgeous plains, Where, rob'd in thousand tints, bright Pleasure reigns! What Pow'r inspir'd his dauntless breast to brave The scorch'd Equator, and th' Antarctic wave?
Climes, where fierce suns in cloudless ardours shine, And pour the dazzling deluge round the Line; The realms of frost, where icy mountains rise, 'Mid the pale summer of the polar skies ?-- _It was Humanity!_--on coasts unknown, The shiv'ring natives of the frozen zone, And the swart Indian, as he faintly strays 'Where Cancer reddens in the solar blaze,' She bade him seek;--on each inclement shore Plant the rich seeds of her exhaustless store; Unite the savage hearts, and hostile hands, In the firm compact of her gentle bands; Strew her soft comforts o'er the barren plain, Sing her sweet lays, and consecrate her fane.
"_It was Humanity!_--O Nymph divine! I see thy light step print the burning Line! There thy bright eye the dubious pilot guides, The faint oar struggling with the scalding tides-- On as thou lead'st the bold, the glorious prow, Mild, and more mild, the sloping sunbeams glow; Now weak and pale the lessen'd lustres play, As round th' horizon rolls the timid day; Barb'd with the sleeted snow, the driving hail, Rush the fierce arrows of the polar gale; And through the dim, unvaried, ling'ring hours, Wide o'er the waves incumbent horror lours." Captain Cook's endeavours to serve the inhabitants of New Zealand, by the vegetables and animals he left among them, are thus described: "To these the hero leads his living store, And pours new wonders on th' uncultur'd shore; The silky fleece, fair fruit, and golden grain; And future herds and harvests bless the plain, O'er the green soil his kids exulting play, And sounds his clarion loud the bird of day; The downy goose her ruffled bosom laves, Trims her white wing, and wantons in the waves; Stern moves the bull along th' affrighted shores, And countless nations tremble as he roars." I shall only add the pathetic and animated conclusion of this fine poem: "But ah!--aloft on Albion's rocky steep, That frowns incumbent o'er the boiling deep, Solicitous, and sad, a softer form Eyes the lone flood, and deprecates the storm .-- Ill fated matron!--for, alas! in vain Thy eager glances wander o'er the main! Tis the vex'd billows, that insurgent rave, Their white foam silvers yonder distant wave, Tis not his sails! thy husband comes no more! His bones now whiten an accursed shore!-- Retire,--for hark! the seagull shrieking soars, The lurid atmosphere portentous lours; Night's sullen spirit groans in every gale, And o'er the waters draws the darkling veil, Sighs in thy hair, and chills thy throbbing breast-- Go wretched mourner!--weep thy griefs to rest! "Yet, though through life is lost each fond delight, Though set thy earthly sun in dreary night, Oh! raise thy thoughts to yonder starry plain, And own thy sorrow selfish, weak, and vain: Since, while Britannia, to his virtues just, Twines the bright wreath, and rears th' immortal bust; While on each wind of heaven his fame shall rise, In endless incense to the smiling skies; _The attendant Power_, that bade his sails expand, And waft her blessings to each barren land, Now raptur'd bears him to th' immortal plains, Where Mercy hails him with congenial strains; Where soars, on Joy's white plume, his spirit free, And angels choir him, while he waits for _Thee_." Captain Cook's discoveries, among other effects, have opened new scenes for a poetical fancy to range in, and presented new images to the selection of genius and taste.