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But soon as approaching the land

In Glory's circling arms the hero bled, That goddess-like woman he viewed, While Victory bound the laurel on his head; The scourge he let fall from his band, At once immortal, in both worlds, became

With blood of his subjects imbrued. His soaring spirit and abiding name: I saw him both sicken and die,

-She thought of Pitt, heart-broken, on bis And the moment the monster expired, bier ; Heard shouts, tbat ascended the sky, And “O my Country!" echoed in her ear: From thousands with raptore inspired. -She thought of Fox;--sbe heard him

faintly speak, Awaking how could I but muse

His parting breath grew cold upon her cheek, At what such a dream should betide? His dying accents trembled into air ; But soon my ear caught the glad news, “Spare injared Africa! the Negro spare !” Which served my weak thought for a She started from her trance !-and, ronnd guide

the shore, That Britannia, renowned o'er the waves | Beheld her sapplicating sons once more,

For the hatred, she ever has shown, Pleading the suit so long, so vajoly tried, To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves, Renew'd, resisted, promised, pledged, de Resolves to have done of her own.

The Negro's claim to all bis Maker gave,
And all the tyrant ravished trom the slave:
Her yielding beart confess'd the righteous


Sorrow had soften'd it, and love o'ercame; MONTGOMERY.

Shame flush'd her noble cheek, her bosom

burn'd; High on her rock, in solitary state,

To helpless, hopeless, Africa she turn’d; Sublimely musing, pale Britannia sate;

She saw her sister in the Mourner's face, Her awful forehead on her spear reclined,

And rush'd with tears into her dark embrace. Her robe and tresses streaming with the

“All bail!” exclaim'd the Empress of the sea, wind;

“ Thy chains are broken, Africa be free!” Chill through her frame foreboding tremors

“All bail!” replied the Muurner, “She crept;

who broke The mother thought upon her sons, and wept:

| My bonds, shall never wear a stranger's -She thought of Nelson in the battle slain, And his last signal beaming o'er the main ; !

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And roam along, the world's tired denizen, I would not be a leaf to die,
With none to bless us, none whom we can Without recording sorrow's sigh.

bless ; Minions of splendour sbrinking from dis. The woods and winds, with sudden wail, tress!

Tell all the same unvaried tale; None that, with kindred consciousness I've none to smile when I am free, endued,

And, when I sigh, to sigh with me. If we were not, would seem to smile the less,

Yet in my dreams a form I view, Of all that Aatter'd, follow'd, sought, and That thinks on me, and loves me too; sued ;

I start, and when the vision's Mown, This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude! | 1 weep that I am all alone.

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To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;-

Doth God exact day-labour, ligbt denied,
I fondly ask? bat patience to prevent

That marmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: bis state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve who only stand and wait.


Earth and seas, and varying skies
Visit not their cheerless eyes.,


If this delicious, grateful flower,

Not for them the bliss to trace Which blows but for a little hour,

The chisel's animating grace : Should to the sight so lovely be,

Nor on the glowing canvass find
As from its fragrance seems to me,

The poet's soul, the sage's mind.
A sigh must tben its colour show,
For that's the softest joy I know;

Not for them the heart is seen
And sure the rose is like a sigh,

| Speaking through the expressive mien; Born just to soothe, and then,-to die! Not for them are pictured there

Friendship, pity, love sincere.
My Father, when our fortune 'smiled,
With jewels deck'd his eyeless child ;

Helpless as they slowly stray,
Their glittering worth, the world might see, Childhood points their cheerless way;
But, ah! they had no charms for me; Or the wand exploring guides
A trickling tear bedew'd my arm-

Faltering steps, where Fear presides. I felt it, and my heart was warm ; And sure the gem to me most dear,

Yet for them has Genius kind Was a kind father's pitying tear.

Humble pleasure here assigned ;

Here with unexpected ray

| Reached the soul that felt no day.

Lonely blindness here can meet

Kindred woes, and converse sweet ; STRANGER, pause !—for thee the day

Torpid once, can learn to smile
Smiling, poors its cheerful ray,

Gladly o'er its useful toil.
Spreads the lawn. and rears the bower,
Lights the stream, and paints the flower.

He who deign'd for man to die,

Oped on day the darkened eye; Stranger, pause !-with softened mind Humbly copy—thou canst feel ! Learn the sorrows of the blind :

Give thine alms-thou canst not heal !



But with a soul that ever felt the sting

Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing:

Not to molest, or irritate, or raine Look where he comes in this embowered A laugh at his expense, is slender praise; alcove

He, that bas not usurped the name of inan, Stand close concealed, and see a statue move: Does all, and deems too little, all be can, Lips busy, and eyes fixt, foot falling slow, | Tassuage the throbbings of the festered Army banging idly down, hands clasped be- | part, low,

And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart, Interpret to the marking eye distress, T'is not, as heads that never ache suppose, Such as its symptoms can alone express. Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes ; That tongue is silent now; that silent tougue Man is a harp whose chords elude the sight, Could argue once, could jest or join the song, 1 Each yielding harmony disposed aright; Could give advice, could censure or com- The screwsreversed (a task which if he please mend,

God in a moment executes with ease,) Or charm the sorrow of a drooping friend. Ten thousand thousand strings at once go Renounced alike its office and its sport, ce and its sport.

loose, Its brisker and its graver strains fell short; Lost, till he tune them, all their power and Both fail'd bepeatb a fever's secret sway,

use. And like a summer-brook are past away. Then neither beathy wilds, nor scenes as fair This is a sight for pity to peruse,

As ever recompensed the peasant's care, Til she resemble taintly wbat she views, Nor soft declivities with tufted hills, Till sympathy contract a kindred pain, Nor view of waters turning busy mills, Pierced with the woes that she laments in Parks in which art preceptrens nature weds, vain.

Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds, This, of all maladies that man infest,

Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming Claims most compassion, and receives the groves, least :

And waft it to the mourner as he roves, Job felt it, when he groaned beneath the rod Can call up life into his faded eye, And the barbed arrows of a frowning God; That passes all he sees unheeded by: And much emollients as his friends could No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, spare,

No cure for such, till God who makes them, Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. beals, Blest, rather curst, with hearts that never And thou, sad sufferer under nameles ill, feel,

That yields not to the touch of human skill, Kept snug in caskets of clone hammered Improve the kind occasion, understand steel,

A Father's frown, and kiss his chastening With mouths made only to grin wide and hand: eat,

To thee the day-spring, and the blaze of noon, And minds, that deem derided pain a treat, | The purple evening, and resplendent moon, With limbs of Britisb oak,and nerves of wire, The stars, tbat sprinkled o'er the vault of And wit, that pupper prompters might in: night, spire,

Seem drops descending in a shower of light, Their sovereign postrom is a clumsy joke Shine not, or undesired and hated shine, On pangs enforced with God's severest Seen through the medium of a cloud like stroke.


Yet seek him, in his favour life is found, But fancy paints some spirit nigh,
All bliss beside a shadow or a sound : Who breathes in rapture o'er thy strings ;
Then heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull Some minstrel sylph or fairy power,

Whose music charms in lonely hour.
Shall seem to start into a second birth!
Nature, assuming a more lovely face, | Æolian harp! the magic swell,
Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, That lingers midst thy sounding wire,
Shall be despised and overlooked no more, On whose wild potes I love to dwell,
Shall fill thee with delights anfelt before, I Could aught but angel voice inspire ?
Impart to things inanimate a voice,

Could mortal voice so sweetly sing,
And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice; Or raise the soul on fancy's wing?
The sound shall run along the winding vales,
And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. Ah! no-No mortal voice e'er song

A strain so soft, a breath so light;
. No chord such witching numbers rung,

But what was tuned by airy sprite;

Some seraph wanderer of the sky,
FATHER of heaven! full many a wasted day, Who sighs the note of melody.
And weary, wakeful night, this heart hath

In vesper bour no requiem swell,
In one bright vision, waning now away, Borne on the breezes of the night,
And leaving it all desolate, forlorn. On which the pious crowd would dwell,
O with thy gracious light, direct my feet To waft the soul to realms of light,

To a more peaceful way,-a nobler love! E'er threw around such magic power, Guide thou a wanderer to that bless'd retreat, Or breath'd more sweet in lonely hour. The clouds and cares of this dark world above.

That song is o'er; the breeze of night For l'hou, my Lord, hast seen year after year Shall sweep in silence o'er the strings ;

Roll on in sadness, since this heart of mine | And, ah ! that breath, so soft, so light,

Bow'd to that yoke alike on all severe; Shall mourn no more on zephyrs' wings ; Now, weak and faint, I ask thy hand divine Thy trembling chords no more shall sigh, To fix each rebel thought, and vagrant tear, No fairy midstrel hover nigh. Saviour of all! upon that cross of tbine !

Farewell, sweet harp; for damp decay

Upon thy mouldering chords shall dwell,

And thou shalt breathe no future lay,

And thou shalt raise no future swell;

The breeze flits by, the music's o'er,

The fairy sounds can charm no more.
I NEVER hear that plaintive sigh,

Borne on the trembling zephyrs' wings,




That staring eye of soulless ray,
Which wanders wildly every way;
Those lips which mutter ghastly mirth:
Oh ! 'tis the saddest sight on earth.

I'd sooner see within that eye
| The wild-fire of insanity;

It is a fearful thing to see
The vacant smile of idiocy;

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