HANNAH. Ar fond sixteen my roving heart Where circling woods embower'd the glade, I stole her hand,-it shrunk,-but no; With all the fervency of youth, Not with a warmer, purer ray, But, swifter than the frighted dove, The angel of affliction rose, Yet, in the glory of my pride, I stood, and all his wrath defied; I stood, though whirlwinds shook my brain, And lightnings cleft my soul in twain. I shunn'd my nymph;-and knew not why I shunn'd her-for I could not bear Yet, sick at heart with hope delay'd, The storm blew o'er, and in my breast "Twas on a merry morn of May, Then as I climb'd the mountains o'er, I saw the village steeple rise,- I met a wedding,-stepp'd aside; -There is a grief that cannot feel; It leaves a wound that will not heal; -My heart grew cold,-it felt not then: When shall it cease to feel again? THE OCEAN. WRITTEN AT SCARBOROUGH, IN THE SUMMER OF 1805. ALL hail to the ruins, the rocks and the shores! Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride, From the tumult and smoke of the city set free, From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee; For mine eye is illumined, my genius takes flight, And moves on thy waters, wherever they roll, From the day-darting zone to the night-shadow'd pole. My spirit descends where the day-spring is born, Where the billows are rubies on fire, And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn O regions of beauty, of love, and desire! Placed far on the fathomless main, Where nature with innocence dwelt in her youth, But now the fair rivers of Paradise wind Beneath his broad footstep the Ganges is dry, And the mountains recoil from the flash of his eye. Thus the pestilent Upas, the demon of trees, Its boughs o'er the wilderness spreads, And with livid contagion polluting the breeze, The birds on the wing, and the flowers in their beds, That darkens the noonday with death, And pale ghosts of travellers wander around, Ah! why hath JEHOVAH, in forming the world, His ramparts of rocks round the continent hurl'd, If man may transgress his eternal command, * Scarborough Castle. And leap o'er the bounds of his birth, To ravage the uttermost earth, And violate nations and realms that should be Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea? There are, gloomy ocean, a brotherless clan, -But the cries of the fatherless mix with her praise, And the tears of the widow are shed on her bays. O Britain dear Britain the land of my birth: Thou pearl of the ocean! thou gem of the earth! From the homes of their kindred, their forefathers' O let not thy birthright be sold graves, Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss, They are dragg'd on the hoary abyss; The shark hears their shrieks, and ascending to-day, Then joy to the tempest that whelms them beneath, Where the vultures and vampires of Mammon resort; Where Europe exultingly drains The life-blood from Africa's veins; Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod, The hour is approaching-a terrible hour! In a moment entomb'd in the horrible void, Shall this be the fate of the cane-planted isles, For reprobate glory and gold: Thy distant dominions like wild graftings shoot, They weigh down thy trunk,-they will tear up thy root: The root of thine OAK, O my country! that stands The blood of our ancestors nourish'd the tree; Though poor were your fathers,-gigantic and bold, But firm as our rocks, and as free as our waves, In the shipwreck of nations we stood up alone,The world was great Cæsar's-but Britain our own. "For ages and ages, with barbarous foes, The Saxon, Norwegian, and Gaul, We wrestled, were foil'd, were cast down, but we rose With new vigour, new life, from each fall: When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smiles, By all we were conquer'd-WE CONQUER'D THEM Sinks softly and sweetly to rest? -No-Father of mercy! befriend the opprest; May the sorrows of Africa cease; To walk in thy freedom, and dwell in thy light!* As homeward my weary-wing'd fancy extends, Ah, me! what new prospects, new horrors arise? All foaming, and panting with blood; For Britannia is wielding the trident to-day And hurling her thunder with absolute sway ALL. -The cruel, and cannibal mind, We soften'd, subdued, and refined; Bears, wolves, and sea-monsters, they rush'd from their den; We taught them, we tamed them, we turn'd them to men. "Love led the wild hordes in his flower-woven bands, The tenderest, strongest of chains; Love married our hearts, he united our hands, One race we became :-on the mountains and plains, The unquenchable altar of liberty blazed, "Ark, altar, and temple, we left with our breath To our children, a sacred bequest; -She triumphs; the winds and the waters con- O guard them, O keep them, in life and in death! spire, To spread her invincible name; -The universe rings with her fame; So the shades of your fathers shall rest, And your spirits with ours be in Paradise blest: -Let ambition, the sin of the brave, And avarice, the soul of a slave, Alluding to the glorious success of the Moravian mis. No longer seduce your affections to roam sionaries among the Negroes in the West Indies. From liberty, justice, religion, AT HOME.” THE COMMON LOT. ONCE in the flight of ages past, There lived a man ;-and WHO WAS HE? -Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, Unknown the region of his birth, That joy and grief, and hope and fear, The bounding pulse, the languid limb, He suffer'd, but his pangs are o'er; Had friends, his friends are now no more; He loved,--but whom he loved, the grave He saw whatever thou hast seen; The rolling seasons, day and night, The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye The annals of the human race, The weeping minstrel sings, And, while her numbers flow, Would gladness move a sprightlier strain, And yet, to soothe the mind With luxury of grief, Thus o'er the light Æolian lyre The winds of dark November stray, Touch the quick nerve of every wire, And on its magic pulses play; Till all the air around Mysterious murmurs fill, A strange bewildering dream of sound, O! snatch the harp from Sorrow's hand, Of vanish'd troubles sing, Of fears for ever fled, of flowers that hear the voice of spring, And burst and blossom from the dead: Of home, contentment, health, repose, Serene delights, while years increase; And weary life's triumphant close In some calm sunset hour of peace; Of bliss that reigns above, Unchanging as Jehovah's love, And everlasting as his truth: 垂 Sing, heavenly Hope!--and dart thine hand Ah! then, this gloom control, By harvest moonlight there he spied One morn, while Time thus mark'd the tree "The hand," he cried, "that planted thee O'er mine was oft victorious; Be vengeance now my calm employ,- He spake, and struck a silent blow With that dread arm whose motion Deep to the willow's root it went, And cleft the core asunder, In vain did spring those bowers restore, The thin gray leaves dishevell'd, Hoary, and weak, and bent with age, O Pope hadst thou, whose lyre so long This weeping willow planted; IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH. O, WHEN shall I visit the land of my birth, Our hamlets, our mountains, My sister, my brother, And dear Isabella, the joy of them all? THE DIAL. THIS shadow on the dial's face, That steals from day to day, It is the scythe of time: It levels all beneath the sky; And still, through each succeeding year Right onward, with resistless power, Its stroke shall darken every hour, Till nature's race be run, And time's last shadow shall eclipse the sun Nor only o'er the dial's face, This silent phantom, day by day, With slow, unseen, unceasing pace, Steals moments, months, and years away; From hoary rock and aged tree, From proud Palmyra's mouldering walls, From Teneriffe, towering o'er the sea, From every blade of grass it falls. For still, where'er a shadow sweeps, The scythe of Time destroys. And man at every footstep weeps O'er evanescent joys; Like flow'rets glittering with the dews of morn Then Time, the conqueror, will suspend His scythe, a trophy, o'er my tomb, Whose moving shadow shall portend Each frail beholder's doom. O'er the wide earth's illumined space, Though time's triumphant flight be shown, The truest index on its face Points from the churchyard stone. A MOTHER'S LOVE. A MOTHER'S love,-how sweet the name! What is a mother's love? -A noble, pure, and tender flame, Enkindled from above, To bless a heart of earthly mould; To bring a helpless babe to light, In its existence lose her own, Its weakness in her arms to bear; To cherish on her breast, Feed it from love's own fountain there, And lull it there to rest; Then while it slumbers watch its breath, To mark its growth from day to day, Of intellectual fire; To smile and listen while it talks, And can a mother's love grow cold? Can she forget her boy? Ten thousand voices answer, "No!" Ye clasp your babes and kiss; The infant, rear'd alone for earth, A parent's heart may prove a snare; Blest infant! whom his mother taught And pour'd upon his dawning thought Behold that mother's love.* Blest mother! who, in wisdom's path, Thus taught her son to flee the wrath, And know the fear of God: Ah! youth, like him enjoy your prime, Taught by that mother's love. That mother's love!-how sweet the name! What was that mother's love? -The noblest, purest, tenderest flame, That kindles from above Within a heart of earthly mould, As much of heaven as heart can hold, THE GLOW-WORM. The male of this insect is said to be a fly, which the female caterpillar attracts in the night by the lustre of her train. WHEN evening closes nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark, To captivate her favourite fly, And tempt the rover through the dark. Conducted by a sweeter star Than all that deck the fields above, He fondly hastens from afar, To soothe her solitude with love. Thus in this wilderness of tears, Amidst the world's perplexing gloom, The transient torch of Hymen cheers The pilgrim journeying to the tomb. Unhappy he whose hopeless eye Turns to the light of love in vain ; * 2 Tim. i. 5, and iii. 14, 15. |