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Rich in my children, on my arms I bore
My living treasures from the scalper's power;
When I sat down to rest, beneath some shade,
On the soft grass how innocent she played,
While her sweet sister from the fragrant wild
Collects the flowers to please my precious child,
Unconscious of her danger, laughing roves,
Nor dreads the painted savage in the groves !

Soon as the spires of Albany appeared,
With fallacies my rising grief I cheered :
“Resigned I bear,” said I, “Heaven's just reproof,
Content to dwell beneath a stranger's roof,
Content my babes should eat dependent bread,
Or by the labour of my hands be fed.
What though my houses, lands, and goods, are gone,
My babes remain—these I can call my own!”
But soon my loved Abella hung her head-
From her soft cheek the bright carnation filed;
Her smooth, transparent skin too plainly showed
How fierce through every vein the fever glowed.

-In bitter anguish o'er her limbs I hung, I wept

and sighed, but sorrow chained my tongue; At length her languid eyes closed from the day, The idol of my soul was torn away; Her spirit fled, and left me ghastly clay!

Then-then my soul rejected all relief, Comfort I wished not, for I loved my grief: “Hear, my Abella,” cried I, “hear me mourn ! For one short moment, O my child! return; Let my complaint detain thee from the skies, Though troops of angels urge thee on to rise”..... My friends press round me with officious care,

Bid me suppress my sighs, nor drop a tear ;
Of resignation talked-passions subdued-
Of souls serene, and Christian fortitude-
Bade me be calm, nor murmur at my loss,
But unrepining bear each heavy cross.

“Go,” cried I, raging, “stoic bosoms, go!
Whose hearts vibrate not to the sound of woe;
Go from the sweet society of men,
Seek some unfeeling tiger's savage den,
There, calm, alone, of resignation preach-
My Christ's examples better precepts teach.”
Where the cold limbs of gentle Lazarus lay,
I find Him weeping o'er the humid clay;
His spirit groaned, while the beholders said,
With gushing eyes, “See how He loved the dead!"
Yes, 'tis my boast to harbour in

my

breast
The sensibilities by God expressed;
Nor shall the mollifying hand of Time,
Which wipes off common sorrows, cancel mine.

Philip Freneau.

THE

WILD HONEYSUCKLE.

(1782.)

FAIR flower that dost so comely grow,

Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honeyed blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet :

No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed,

She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;

Thus quietly thy summer goes

Thy days declining to repose.
Smit with those charms that must decay,

I grieve to see your future doom;
They died-nor were those flowers more gay-
The flowers that did in Eden bloom ;

Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews

At first thy little being came :
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you

die
you

are the same;
The
space

between is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.

INDIAN DEATH-SONG.

THE "HE sun sets at night, and the stars shun the day,

But glory remains when their lights fade away: Begin, ye tormentors ! your threats are in vain, For the son of Alknomock can never complain.

Remember the woods where in ambush he lay,
And the scalps which he bore from your

nation Why do ye delay ?-till I shrink from my pain ? Know the son of Alknomock can never complain.

away!

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow;
Remember

your

chiefs by his hatchet laid low! The flame rises high-you exult in my pain ! But the son of Alknomock will never complain. I go to the land where His ghost shall exult in the fame of his son. Death comes like a friend; he relieves me from pain, And thy son, O Alknomock! has scorned to complain.

my

father is gone;

Susannah Rowson.

AMERICA, COMMERCE, AND FREEDOM.

(1795.)

How blest a life a sailor leads,

,
From clime to clime still ranging;
For as the calm the storm succeeds,

The scene delights by changing !
When
tempests

howl along the main,
Some object will remind us,
And cheer with hopes to meet again

Those friends we've left behind us.
Then, under snug sail, we laugh at the gale,

And though landsmen look pale, never heed 'em;
But toss off a glass to a favourite lass,
To America, commerce, and freedom !
And when arrived in sight of land,

Or safe in port rejoicing,
Our ship we moor, our sails we hand,

Whilst out the boat is hoisting.

With eager haste the shore we reach,

Our friends delighted greet us ;
And, tripping lightly o'er the beach,

The pretty lasses meet us.
When the full-flowing bowl has enlivened the soul,

To foot it we merrily lead ’em;
And each bonny lass will drink off a glass
To America, commerce, and freedom !
Our cargo sold, we chink the share,

And gladly we receive it;
And if we meet a brother-tar

Who wants, we freely give it.
No freeborn sailor yet had store,

But cheerfully would lend it;
And when 'tis gone, to sea for more-

We earn it but to spend it.
Then drink round, my boys ! 'tis the first of our joys

To relieve the distressed, clothe and feed 'em; 'Tis a task which we share with the brave and the fair

In this land of commerce and freedom!

St. John Tucker.

DAYS OF MY YOUTH.

(1800.)

DAYS

AYS of my youth, ye have glided away :

Hairs of my youth, ye are frosted and gray: Eyes of my youth, your keen sight is no more: Cheeks of my youth, ye are furrowed all o’er:

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