Released from slavery's chain, Beyond the billowy surge he flies, And joyful views his native skies And long-lost bowers again. On Koromantyn's palmy soil, Shall fill each glorious day; Love, fond and faithful, crown thy nights, Nor lordly pride's stern avarice there For thee the dulcet reed shall spring, The thunder, hark! 'Tis Afric's God; Now, Christian, now, in wild dismay, But soft,-beneath yon tamarind shade, Now let the hero's limbs be laid; Sweet slumbers bless the brave: There shall the breezes shed perfume, Nor livid lightnings blast the bloom That decks Mahali's grave. BRYAN EDWARDS. ТО НОРЕ. THEY err who deem thee of celestial race, Thine is no angel face, O treacherous Hope, who flatterest to beguile. Thou wert, indeed, fair spirit, born in heaven; But from the realm of bliss Thy faithless form was driven With those who plunged into the deep abyss. And mortals own thy sway, Deem'd the good angel of the sons of earth. Thou, when the traveller of the moonless night That tempts the wretched wanderer far astray. And now he lifts his voice And louder now-and now the light is gone. And when beneath the tide, Groaning, he sinks, remembering all he loves. And when the mountainous ocean swells and raves, The mariner endure protracted death. Long buoy'd by thee, with miserable eye And thinks he can descry The distant vessel o'er the billows bound. Oh, happy, if by no vain wish possess'd, Despair had fill'd his breast, Soon had he perish'd, and the pang been past. Fool! he who trusts thee in the evil hour, Thou parasite of grief, Whose false and boasting power Can only promise, never bring relief. ANONYMOUS. TO THE RIVER TEIGN. OH Thou! the guardian of each floweret pale Foams down the dark and solitary vale; [stray, Which gilds the' encircling majesty of groves; Hail, holy sire! whilst keen remorse corrodes, Sicken'd with pleasure's pangs, this aching Thy freshening streams impart, [heart, And take, oh, take me to thy bless'd abodes! VOL. III. S But if, led on by Heaven's decree to' explore Torn from thy desert caves and solemn roar; Enshroud me far from men, in deep repose. RAMPFYLDE. TO THE POPPY. NOT for the promise of the labour'd field, For dull to humid eyes appear The golden glories of the year; Alas! a melancholy worship's mine! That dost so far exceed The richest gifts gay Flora can bestow, Heedless I pass'd thee in Life's morning hour (Thou comforter of woe), Till Sorrow taught me to confess thy power. In early days, when Fancy cheats, A various wreath I wove Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets, To deck ungrateful Love; The rose or thorn my numbers crown'd, As Venus smiled or Venus frown'd. But Love and Joy and all their train are flown, Unless perchance the attributes of grief, Their pale funereal foliage blend with thine. Hail, lovely blossom! thou canst ease Canst close those weary eyes in gentle sleep Which never open but to weep; For, oh! thy potent charm Can agonizing Pain disarm; Expel imperious Memory from her seat, By thee the wretched die! Which bids the spirit from its bondage fly, I'd court thy palliative aid no more! Burst these terrestrial bonds, and other regions try. HON. MRS. O'NEIL. TO THE WILLOW. SEE Nature's fairest gift appear, |