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"TWAS in the glad season of spring,

Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dreain'd what I cannot but sing,

So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.
I dream'd, that on ocean afloat,

Far hence to the westward I sailid, While the billows high lifted the boat,

And the freshi-blowing breeze never tail's In the stecrage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impress d mo with awe,

Nc'er taught me by woman before. She sat, and a slricld at her side

Shed light like a sun on the waves, And smiling divincly, she cried

“ I go to make freemen of slaves."Then raising her voice to a strain

Tlie 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 eneiny stood

Oppression his terribile nume.

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 goddess-like 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 guido That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves

For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-scepter'd rulers of slaves,

Resolves to have none of her own.



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 ho,
As niuch as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song ;
For 'twas the self-same pow'r divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine ;
That you with musick, 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

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



TIME was when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed ny 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.

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.

Thanks gentle swain, for all my woos,
And thanks for this effectual close

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

Had boen your pris'nor still.



THE pine-apples in triple row,
Wero basking hot, and all in blow;
A bee of most discerning taste
Perceiv'd the fragrance as he pass’d,
On ouger wing the spoiler came,
And search'd for crannies in the frame,
Urg'd his attempt on ev'ry side,
To ev'ry pane his trunk applied ;
But still in vain, the frame was tight,
And only pervious to the light;
Thus having wasted half the day,
He trimm'd his flight another way.

Methinks, I said, in thee I find
The sin and madness of mankind.
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Consumes his soul with vain desires ;
Folly the spring of his pursuit,
And disappointment all the fruit.
While Cynthio ogles, as she passos,
The nymph between two chariot glassos,
Sho is the pine-apple, and he
The silly unsuccessful bee.
The maid, who views with pensive air
The show-glass fraught with glitt'ring ware,
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
But sighs at thought of empty pockets ;
Like thine, her appetite is keen,
But ah the cruel glass between.

Our dear delights are often such, Expos’d to view but not lo touch;

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