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The happy child in dragon's way
Shall frolic with delight;
And all in love unite !
That all the world may see;
THE FOOLISH VIRGINS.
LATE, late, so late ! and dark the night, and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now!
No light had we-for that we do repent;
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now!
No light ! so late! and dark and chill the night! Oh, let us in, that we may find the light !
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now !
Have we not heard the Bridegroom is so sweet?
THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.
FORCED from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn!
O’er the raging billows borne.
Paid my price in paltry gold;
Minds are never to be sold !
Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task ? Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit Nature's claim; Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same.
Why did all-creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Lolling at your jovial boards,
For the sweets your cane affords.
Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there One who reigns on high ? Has He bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from His throne, the sky? Ask Him if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means which duty urges
Agents of His will to use ?
Hark! He answers !-wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which He speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's sons should undergo, Fix'd their tyrants' habitations
Where His whirlwinds answer-No.
By our blood in Afric wasted
Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries we've tasted
Crossing in your barks the main;
By our sufferings since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
Only by a broken heart !
Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason ye shall find
Than the colour of our kind.
Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Ere you proudly question ours !
How wild and dim this life appears !
One long, deep, heavy sigh,
Are faintly glittering by!
Dissolves at once in snow.
Then, like a dream, are gone.
We scarce believe it shone !
Heaven-airs amid the harp-strings dwell,
And we wish they ne'er may fade;They cease,-and the soul is a silent cell,
Where music never played!
But, ere the breath of morning flowers,
That gorgeous world flies past;
Glides by us on this earth;
THE CATARACT OF LODORE,
HERE it comes sparkling,
Rising and leaping,
Receding and speeding,
And whizzing and hissing,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, And curling and whirling and purling and twirling;
Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling,