But still for public good the Boy was train'd,
The Mother suffer'd, but the Matron gain'd:
Here Nature's outrage serves no cause to aid,
The Ill is felt, but not the Spartan made.
Then too I own it grieves me to behold
Those ever virtuous, helpless now and old,
By all for Care and Industry approv'd,
For truth respected and for temper lov'd;
And who by sickness and misfortune try'd,
Gave Want its worth and Poverty its pride:
I own it grieves me to behold them sent
From their old Home; 'tis Pain, 'tis Punishment,
To leave each scene familiar, every Face,
For a new People and a stranger Race;
For those who, sunk in Sloth and dead to Shame,
From Scenes of Guilt with daring Spirits came;
Men, just and guileless, at such Manners start,
And bless their God that Time has fenc'd their Heart,
Confirm'd their Virtue, and expell'd the Fear
Of Vice in Minds so simple and sincere.
Here the good Pauper, losing all the Praise
By worthy Deeds acquir'd in better days,
Breathes a few Months, then to his Chamber led,
Expires, while Strangers prattle round his Bed.
The grateful Hunter, when his Horse is old,
Wills not the useless Favourite to be sold;
He knows his former Worth, and gives him place
In some fair Pasture, till he's run his Race:
But has the Labourer, has the Seaman done
Less worthy Service, though not dealt to one?
Shall we not then contribute to their Ease,
In their old Haunts where ancient Objects please?
That, till their Sight shall fail them, they may trace
The well-known Prospect and the long lov'd Face.
The Oak, in distant Ages seen,
With far-stretch'd Boughs and Foliage fresh and green,
Though now its bare and forky Branches show
How much it lacks the vital Warmth below,
The stately Ruin yet our Wonder gains,
Nay, moves our Pity, without thought of Pains:
Much more shall real Wants and Cares of Age
Our gentler passions in their cause engage;---
Drooping and burthen'd with a weight of Years,
What venerable ruin Man appears!
How worthy Pity, Love, Respect, and Grief---
He claims Protection---he compels Relief ;---
And shall we send him from our view, to brave
The Storms abroad, whom we at home might save,
And let a Stranger dig our ancient Brother's Grave?
No!---we will shield him from the Storm he fears,
And when he falls, embalm him with our Tears.
Within his view, I fancy'd there was Shame,
I judg'd Resentment; I mistook the Air,---
These fainter Passions live not with Despair;
Or but exist and die :---Hope, Fear and Love,
Joy, Doubt, and Hate, may other Spirits move,
But touch not his, who every waking hour
Has one fix'd Dread, and always feels its power.
"But will not Mercy?"---No! she cannot plead
For such an Outrage ;---'twas a cruel Deed :
He stopp'd a timid Traveller ;---to his Breast,
With Oaths and Curses, was the Danger prest:
No! he must suffer; Pity we may find
For one Man's Pangs, but inust not wrong Mankind.
Still I behold him, every thought employ'd
On one dire View !-- all others are destroy'd;
This makes his Features ghastly, gives the tone
Of his few words resemblance to a groan:
He takes his tasteless Food, and when 'tis done,
Counts up his Meals, now lessen'd by that one;
For Expectation is on Time intent,
Whether he brings us Joy or Punishment.
Yes! e'en in sleep th' impressions all remain,
He hears the Sentence and he feels the Chain;
Ho sees the Judge and Jury, when he shakes,
And loudly cries, "Not guilty," and awakes:
Then chilling Tremblings o'er his Body creep,
Till worn-out Nature is compell'd to sleep.
Now comes the Dream again: it shows each Scene,
With each small Circumstance that comes between---
The Call to Suffering and the very Deed---
There Crowds go with him, follow, and precede,
Some heartless shout, some pity, all condemn,
While he in fancied Envy looks at them!
He seems the Place for that sad Act to see,
And dreams the very Thirst which then will be:
A Priest attends---it seems the one he knew
In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.
At this bis Terrors take a sudden flight,
He sees his native Village with delight;
The House, the Chamber, where he once array'd
His youthful Person; where he knelt and pray'd: ·
Then too the Comforts he enjoy'd at home,
The Days of Joy; the Joys themselves are come ;---
The Hours of Innocence ;---the timid Look
Of his lov'd Maid, when first her hand he took
And told his hope; her trembling Joy appears,---
Her fore'd Reserve and his retreating Fears.
All now is present;---'tis a moment's gleam Of former Sunshine---stay, delightful Dream! Let him within his pleasant Garden walk,
Give him her Arm, of Blessings let them talk.
Yes! all are with him now, and all the while
Life's early Prospects and his Fanny's Smile :
Then come his Sister and his Village Friend,
And he will now the sweetest Moments spend
Life has to yield :---No! never will he find
Again on Earth such Pleasure in his Mind:
He goes through shrubby Walks these Friends among,
Love in their Looks and Honour on their Tongue;
Nay, there's a Charm beyond what Nature shows,
The Bloom is softer and more sweetly glows ;---
Pierc'd by no Crime, and urg'd by no desire
For more than true and honest Hearts require,
They feel the calm Delight, and thus proceed
Through the green Lane,-then linger in the Mead,---
Stray o'er the Heath in all its purple bloom,---
And pluck the Blossom where the Wild-bees hum;
Then through the broomy Bound with ease they pass,
And press the sandy Sheep-walk's slender Grass,
Where dwarfish Flowers among the Gorse are spread,
And the Lamb brouzes by the Linnet's Bed;
Then 'cross the bounding Brook they make their way
O'er its rough Bridge---and there behold the Bay !---
The Ocean smiling to the fervid Sun---
The Waves that faintly fall and slowly run,
The Ships at distance and the Boats at hand :
And now they walk upon the Sea-side Sand,
Counting the number, and what kind they be,
Ships softly sinking in the sleepy Sea:
Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold
The glitt'ring Waters on the Shingles roll'd;
The timid Girls, half dreading their design,
Dip the small Foot in the retarded Brine,
And search for crimson Weeds, which spreading flow
Or lie like Pictures on the Sand below;
With all those bright red Pebbles, that the Sun
Through the small Waves so softly shines upon
And those live lucid Jellies which the eye
Delights to trace as they swim glitt'ring by:
Pearl-shells and rubied Star-fish they admire,
And will arrange above the Parlour-fire,---
Tokens of Bliss !-
DESCRIPTION OF AFRICA AND THE NEGRO.
[From Montgomery's West Indies.]
HERE the stupendous Mountains of the Moon
Cast their broad shadows o'er the realms of noon;
From rude Caffraria, where the giraffes browse,
With stately heads among the forest boughs,
To Atlas, where Numidian lions glow
With torrid fire beneath eternal snow;
From Nubian hills, that hail the dawning day,
To Guinea's coast, where evening fades away,
Regions immense, unsearchable, unknown,
Bask in the splendour of the solar zone;
A world of wonders,-where creation seems
No more the works of Nature but her dreams;
Great, wild, and beautiful, beyond controul,
She reigns in all the freedom of her soul;
Where none can check her bounty when she showers
O'er the gay wilderness her fruits and flowers;
None brave her fury, when, with whirlwind breath,
And earthquake step, she walks abroad with death;
O'er boundless plains she holds her fiery flight,
In terrible magnificence of light;
At blazing noon pursues the evening breeze,
Through the dun gloom of realm-o'ershadowing trees;
Her thirst at Nile's mysterious fountain quells,
Or bathes in secrecy where Niger swells
An inland ocean, on whose jasper rocks
With shells and sea-flower-wreaths she binds her locks :
She sleeps on isles of velvet verdure, placed
Midst sandy gulphs and shoals for ever waste;
She guides her countless flocks to cherish'd rills,
And feeds her cattle on a thousand hills;
Her steps the wild bees welcome through the vale,
From every blossom that embalms the gale;
The slow unwieldy river-horse she leads
Through the deep waters, o'er the pasturing meads;
And climbs the mountains that invade the sky,
To sooth the eagle's nestlings when they cry.
At sun set, when voracious monsters burst
From dreams of blood, awak'd by maddening thirst;
When the lorn caves, in which they shrunk from light,
Ring with wild echoes through the hideous night;
When darkness seems alive, and all the air
Is one tremendous uproar of despair,
Horror and agony ;-on her they call;
She hears their clamour, she provides for all,
Leads the light leopard on his eager way,
And goads the gaunt hyæna to his prey.
In these romantic regions man grows wild;
Here dwells the negro, Nature's outcast child.
Scorn'd by his brethren; but his mother's eye,
That gazes on him from her warmest sky,
Sees in his flexile limbs untutor'd grace,
Power on his forehead, beauty in his face;
Sees in his breast, where lawless passions rove,
The heart of friendship, and the home of love;
Sees in his mind, where desolation reigns,
Fierce as his clime, uncultured as his plains,
A soil where virtue's fairest flowers might shoot,
And trees of science bend with glorious fruit;
Sees in his soul, involved with thickest night,
An emanation of eternal light,
Ordain'd, 'midst sinking worlds, his dust to fire,
And shine for ever when the stars expire.
Is he not Man, though knowledge never shed
Her quickening beams on his neglected head?
Is he not Man, though sweet religion's voice
Ne'er bade the mourner in his God rejoice?
Is he not man, by sin and suffering tried?
Is he not man for whom the Saviour died?
Belie the Negro's powers: ---in headlong will,
Christian, thy brother thou shalt prove him still;
Belie his virtues; since his wrongs began,
His follies and his crimes have stampt him Man.
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