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Then raising her voice to a strain

The sweetest, that ear ever heard, She sung of the slave's broken chain,

Wherever her glory appear'd. Some clouds, which had over us hung,

Fled, chas’d by her melody clear, And methought while she liberty sung,

"Twas liberty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a slave-cultur’d island we came,
Where a demon, her enemy, stood

Oppression his terrible name.
In his hand, as the sign of his sway,

A scourge hung with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey

From Africa's sorrowful shore.

But soon as approaching the land,

That goddesslike woman he view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand,

With blood of his subjects imbru’d. I saw him both sicken and die,

And the moment the monster expir'd, Heard shouts, that ascended the sky,

From thousands with rapture inspir’d. Awaking, how could I but muse

At what such a dream should betide ? But soon my ear caught the glad news,

Which serv'd my weak thought for a guide That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves

For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves,

Resolves to have none of her own.

THE

NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangu'd him thus, right eloquent

Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the selfsame pow'r divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;

286

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.

That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Releas'd him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.

Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real int'rest to discern;
That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting in each other's case
The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name,
Who studiously make peace their aim;
Peace both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.

ON A GOLDFINCH

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.

Time was when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,

My drink the morning dew;
I perch'd at will on ev'ry spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new.

II.
But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain,
And form genteel, were all in vain,

And of a transient date ;
For caught, and cag'd, and starv'd to death,
In dying sighs my little breath
Soon pass’d the wiry grate.

III. .
Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close

And cure of ev'ry ill !
More cruelty could none express;
And I, if you had shown me less,

Had been your pris'ner still.

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