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He saw a Turnkey in a trice
Fetter a troublesome blade; “Nimbly," quoth he,“ do the fingers move
If a man be but used to his trade.”
He saw the same Turnkey unfetter a man
With but little expedition, Which put him in mind of the long debate
On the Slave-trade abolition.
He saw an old acquaintance
As he passed by a Methodist meeting ;-She holds a consecrated key,
And the Devil nods her a greeting.
She turned up her nose, and said,
“ Avaunt! my name's Religion,” And she looked to Mr.
And leered like a love-sick pigeon.
He saw a certain minister
(A minister to his mind) Go up into a certain House,
With a majority behind.
The Devil quoted Genesis,
Like a very learned clerk,
into the Ark.”
He took from the poor,
And he gave to the rich,
For he was not afraid of the
burning face He saw with consternation, And back to hell his way did he take, For the Devil thought by a slight mistake It was general conflagration.
Sept. 6, 1799. II.-LOVE POEMS.
Quas humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in ævo,
OR THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHAUNT.
At midnight by the stream I roved,
The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam
And the shadow of a star Heaved
Tamaha's stream ; But the rock shone brighter far,
The rock half sheltered from
I saw a cloud of palest hue,
Onward to the moon it passed;
Till it reached the moon at last :
And with such joy I find my Lewti; And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.
The little cloud-it floats away,
Away it goes; away so soon?
Away it passes from the moon!
Ever fading more and more, To joyless regions of the sky
And now 'tis whiter than before !
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie, A dying man for love of thee. Nay, treacherous image! leave my mindAnd yet, thou didst not look unkind.
I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high ; I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud:
Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Now below and now above,
Of Lady fair—that died for love.
heedless feet from under Slip the crumbling banks for ever: Like echoes to a distant thunder,
They plunge into the gentle river. The river-swans have heard my tread, And startle from their reedy bed. O beauteous birds ! methinks ye measure
Your movements to some heavenly tune! O beauteous birds ! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the moon,