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I've none to smile when I am free,
Yet in my dreams a form I view,
H. K. White.
Child of the dust, I heard thee mourn,
But art thou thus indeed alone,
Who laid his Son within the grave,
Is not his voice ia evening's gale?
Each fluttering hope, each anxious fear,
ON THE DEATH OF
WHO EXPIRED AT MISSOLONGHI ON THE 19lH APRIL 1824.
He's gone! the glorious spirit's fled!
The minstrel's strains are hushed and o'er,
Upon a far and foreign shore.
For ever hangs his tuneful lyre,
Quenched like a meteor's fire!
So sleeps the great, the young, the brave.
Of all beneath the circling sun.
To him, the bard, remain alone.
So mute the music of the tongue, Which poured but late the loftiest strain
That ever mortal sung.
Yet musing on bis early doom,
Methinks for him no tears should be,
The laurels of eternity.
How shall the heart its loss forget?
His praises wake regret.
His memory in the tears of Greece
Shall be embalmed for evermore, And till her tale of troubles cease,
His spirit walk her silent shore. Then even the winds that wake in sighs,
Shall still seem whispering of bis name; And lonely rocks and mountains rise
His monuments of fame!
But where is he ?—ye dead—ye dead,
How secret and how silent all!
No answer from the dreary pall.
No morning beam, no wakening eye,
Of trees that fall—to lie.
'My bark is yet upon the shore,'
And thine is launched upon the sea,
Of fathomless eternity!
We yet may meet—we yet may dwell;
Immortal, fare thee well!
John Malcolm, Esq
0 for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Of unsuccessful, or successful war,
Might never reach me more! My ear is pained,
My soul is sick, with every day's report
Of wrong and outrage, with which earth is filled.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart,
It does not feel for man; the natural bond
Of brotherhood is severed as the flax
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not coloured like his own; and having power
To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed
Make enemies of nations, who had else
Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And, worse than all, and most to be deplored,
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding heart,
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.
Then what is man? and what man, seeing this,
And having human feelings, does not blush,
And hang his head, to think himself a man?
I would not have a slave to till my ground,