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What there has got possession.
For principle profession.
Protect our parent king :
And crush them ere they sting.
If such his trust and honours share,
Each venom'd heart disclose ;
He cannot fear his foes.
Whoe'er shall at the helm preside,
To stem the troubled wave;
And dares to scorn a knave,'
No selfish views to’ oppress mankind,
To purchase fame with blood;
Is only to be good.
Such was thy glorious plan!
The minister and man.
Be Britain's weal your view!
And Pelham live in you.
ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE LEOPOLD, SON OF THE DUKE OF MECKLENBURGH SCHWERIN,
WHO WAS DROWNED IN THE RIVER ODER, DURING
With human sacrifice impure ;
Shall long-prescriptive right secure :
The formal summons disobey; This envied meed from distant lands The name of Leopold commands,
And every friend of man shall pay.
Lamented youth! I never trod
Whose latest sons shall weep thy doom ;
Hath crush'd in manhood's opening bloom.
Yet, all confess’d to Fancy's eyes,
With amaranthine splendour crown'd,
On snowy pinions hover round. Though now to better worlds resign'd, Thy bright example left behind
Shall still to man extend thy care; Disclose the surer paths of Fame, And nobly point the social aim,
• To save, to pity, and to spare.'
ON SEEING A NEGRO FUNERAL.
MAHALI dies! o'er yonder plain
By youthful virgins led :
Why triumph o'er the dead? No tear dews their fixed eye: 'Tis now the hero lives, they crym
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;
Past cruel wrongs repay.
Nor lordly pride's stern avarice there
To all her children free.
The' anana bloom for thee.
The thunder, hark! 'Tis Afric's God;
And speeds the’ impatient hours : From Niger's golden stream he calls; Fair Freedom comes—Oppression falls;
And vengeance yet is ours !
Now, Christian, now, in wild dismay,
Go roam the affrighted wood ;-
And glut their rage for blood !
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 Mabali's grave.
Nymph of the ceaseless smile,
Thine is no angel face,
But from the realm of bliss
Thy faithless form was driven
The hue of heavenly birth;
And mortals own thy sway,
Gropes o'er the moor his way,
Showest the watery light
He hastens wildly on
And now he lifts his voice
A wretched man he moves,
And when beneath the tide,