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The happy child in dragon's way

Shall frolic with delight;
The Iamb shall round the leopard play,

And all in love unite!
The dove on Zion's hill shall light,

That all the world may see;
Hail to the Journeyer in his might,

That comes to set us free!

Hooa.

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;
And learning this, the Bridegroom will relent.—
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 1
Oh, let us in, though late, to kiss His feet!—
No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now!

Tennyson.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.

Forced from home and all its pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn!
To increase a stranger's treasures,

O'er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,

Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though theirs they have enrolled me,

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 1 Sighs must fan it, tears must water,

Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,

Lolling at your jovial boards, Think how many backs have smarted

For the sweets your cane affords.

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,

Is there One who reigns on high 1 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;

All sustained by patience, taught us
Only by a broken heart!—

Deem our nation brutes no longer,

Till some reason ye shall find
Worthier of regard and stronger

Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold! whose sordid dealings

Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that you have human feelings

Ere you proudly question ours!

Cowper.

THE PAST.

How wild and dim this life appears!

One long, deep, heavy sigh,
When o'er our eyes, half closed in tears,
The images of former years

Are faintly glittering by!
And still forgotten while they go;
As, on the sea beach, wave on wave

Dissolves at once in snow.
The amber clouds one moment lie,

Then, like a dream, are gone.
Though beautiful the moonbeams play
On the lake's bosom, bright as they,
And the soul intensely loves their stay,
Soon as the radiance melts away,

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!

Dream follows dream, through the long night
hours,
Each lovelier than the last:

But, ere the breath of morning flowers,

That gorgeous world flies past;
And many a sweet angelic cheek,
Whose smiles of love and fondness speak,

Glides by us on this earth;
While in a day we cannot tell
Where shone the face we loved so well.

In sadness, or in mirth!

Wilson.

THE CATABACT OF LODORE

Here it comes sparkling,

And there it lies darkling;

Here smoking and frothing,

Its tumults and wrath in,

It hastens along, conflicting, strong,

Now striking and raging,

As if a war waging,

Its caverns and rocks among.

Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and flinging,
Showering and springing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking,
Twining and twisting,
Around and around;
Collecting, disjecting,
With endless rebound;
Smiting and fighting,
In turmoil delighting;
Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.

Receding and speeding,
And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting,
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining,
And rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving,
And tossing and crossing,
And flowing and growing,
And running and stunning,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And dinning and spinning,
And foaming and roaming,
And dropping and hopping,
And working and jerking,
And heaving and cleaving,
And thundering and floundering.

And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and crinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling;
Dividing and gliding and sliding,
Grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
Clattering and battering and shattering.

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,

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