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Then wept the warrior-chief, and bade to shred his locks away,
And, one by one, each heavy braid before the victor lay.
Thick were the plaited locks, and long; and, deftly hidden there,
Shone many a wedge of gold, among the dark and crispèd hair.
"Look! feast thy greedy eyes with gold, long kept for sorest need;
Take it thou askest sums untold,-and say that I am freed.
Take it!-my wife, the long, long day weeps by the cocoa-tree,
And my young children leave their play and ask in vain for me.'
"I take thy gold-but I have made thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa-shade thy wife will wait thee long."
Strong was the agony that shook the captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look was changed to mortal fear.
His heart was broken-crazed his brain; at once his eye grew wild;
He struggled fiercely with his chain, whispered, and wept, and smiled:
Yet wore not long those fatal bands; for soon, at shut of day,
They drew him forth upon the sands, the foul hyena's prey.

XXIX. THE SLAVE'S PETITION.

-Mrs. Norton.

Ir was an aged man, who stood beside the blue Atlantic sea; They cast his fetters by the flood, and hailed the time-worn captive free;

From his indignant eye there flashed a gleam his better nature gave, And while his tyrants shrank abashed, thus spoke the spirit-stricken Slave:

"Bring back the chain, whose weight so long these tortured limbs have vainly borne;

The word of freedom from your tongue, my weary ear rejects with

scorn!

'Tis true, there was there was a time, I sighed, I panted to be free, And, pining for my sunny clime, bowed down my stubborn knee.

"Then I have stretched my yearning arms, and shook in wrath my galling chain;

Then, when the magic words had charms, I groaned for Liberty, in vain!

That freedom ye at length bestow, and bid me bless my envied fate:
Ye tell me I am free to go—where ?--I am desolate !

"The boundless hope-the spring of joy, felt when the spirit's strength

young;

Which slavery only can alloy,—the mockeries to which I clung;

The eyes, whose fond and sunny ray made life's dull lamp less dimly burn,

The tones I pined for day by day,—can ye bid them return?.

"Bring back the chain!-its clanking sound hath now a power beyond

your own;

It brings young visions smiling round, too fondly loved-too early flown!

It brings me days when these dim eyes gazed o'er the wild and swelling

sea,

Counting how many suns must rise ere one might hail me free!

"Bring back the chain! that I may think 'tis that which weighs my spirit so;

And, gazing on each galling link, dream-as I dreamt-of bitter woe! My days are gone;-of hope, of youth, these traces now alone

remain

(Hoarded with sorrow's sacred truth)-tears, and my iron chain! "Freedom!-Though doomed in pain to live, the freedom of the soul is mine;

But all of slavery you could give, around my steps must ever twine. Raise up the head which age hath bent, renew the hopes that childhood gave,

Bid all return kind Heaven once lent;-till then-I am a slave!"

XXX.-THE FELON.-M. G. Lewis.

OH! mark his wan and hollow cheeks, and mark his eye-balls' glare,
And mark his teeth in anguish clinched-the anguish of despair!
Know, three days since, his penance o'er, yon culprit left a jail;
And since three days, no food has passed those lips, so parched and pale.
"Where shall I turn ?" the wretch exclaims; "where hide my shameful
head?

How fly from scorn, or how contrive to earn an honest bread?
This branded hand would gladly toil; but when for work I pray
Who views this mark A felon !' cries, and loathing turns away.

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My heart has greatly erred-but now would fain return to good! My hand has deeply sinned-but yet has ne'er been stained with blood!

For alms, or work, in vain I sue-the scorners both deny;

I starve! I starve !-Then what remains? this choice-to sin or die!

"Here, Virtue spurns me with disdain,-there, Pleasure spreads her

snare;

Strong habit drives me back to vice; and, urged by fierce despair,
I strive, while hunger gnaws my heart, to fly from shame-in vain!
World! 'tis thy cruel will!-I yield, and plunge in guilt again!
"There's mercy, in each ray of light that mortal eyes e'er saw;
There's mercy, in each breath of air that mortal lips e'er draw;
There's mercy, both for bird and beast in Heaven's indulgent plan;
There's mercy, in each creeping thing-but man has none for man!
"Ye proudly honest! when you heard my wounded conscience groan,
Had generous hand, or feeling heart, one glimpse of mercy shown;
That act had made, from burning eyes, sweet tears of virtue roll,
Had fixed my heart, assured my faith-and Heaven had gained a soul!"

XXXI.-THE SAILOR.-Rogers.

THE sailor sighs as sinks his native shore,
As all its lessening turrets bluely fade;
He climbs the mast to feast his eyes once more,
And busy Fancy fondly lends her aid.

Ah! now, each dear domestic scene he knew,

Recalled and cherished in a foreign clime,— Charms with the magic of a moonlight view;

Its colours mellowed, not impaired, by Time. True as the needle, homeward points his heart, Through all the horrors of the stormy main; This, the last wish that would with life departTo see the smile of her he loves again!

When morn first faintly draws her silver line,

Or eve's gray cloud descends to drink the wave When sea and sky in midnight darkness join, Still, still he views the parting look she gave. Her gentle spirit, lightly hovering o'er,

Attends his little bark from pole to pole; And when the beating billows round him roar, Whispers sweet hope to soothe his troubled soul. Carved is her name in many a spicy grove, In many a plantain-forest waving wide: Where dusky youths in painted plumage rove, And giant palms o'er-arch the golden tide. But lo! at last he comes with crowded sail! Lo! o'er the cliff, what eager figures bend! And hark, what mingled murmurs swell the gale In each, he hears the welcome of a friend! "Tis she, 'tis she herself! she waves her hand!Soon is the anchor cast, the canvas furled; Soon through the whitening surge he springs to land And clasps the maid he singles from the world!

XXXII. -THE ORPHAN BOY.-Mrs. Opie.
STAY, Lady! stay for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless Orphan's tale!
Ah! sure, my looks must pity wake,
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.

Yet I was once a mother's pride,

And my brave father's hope and joy;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died-
And I am now an Orphan Boy!
Poor, foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

And see the lighted windows flame!
To force me home my mother sought;
She could not bear to see my joy,
For with my father's life 'twas bought--
And made me a poor Orphan Boy.
The people's shouts were long and loud;
My mother, shuddering, closed her ears,
Rejoice! rejoice!" still cried the crowd;
My mother answered with her tears.

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"Why are you crying thus," said I,
"While others laugh, and shout with joy ?"
She kissed me, and, with such a sigh,
She called me her poor Orphan Boy!
"What is an orphan boy ?" I said,

When, suddenly, she gasped for breath;
And her eyes closed-I shrieked for aid,
But, ah! her eyes were closed in death!
And now they've tolled my mother's knell,
And I'm no more a parent's joy;
O Lady!--I have learned too well
What 'tis to be an Orphan Boy!
Oh! were I by your bounty fed-
Nay, gentle Lady, do not chide;
Trust me, I mean to earn my bread;
The sailor's orphan boy has pride!
Lady, you weep-Ha!-this to me?
You'll give me clothing, food, employ?
Look down, dear parents, look and see
Your happy, happy Orphan Boy!

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THE spearman heard the bugle sound, and cheerly smiled the morn
And many a brach, and many a hound, attend Llewellyn's horn;
And still he blew a louder blast, and gave a louder cheer;
"Come, Gelert! why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear?
Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam ? the flower of all his race!
So true, so brave! a lamb at home-a lion in the chase!"

'Twas only at Llewellyn's board the faithful Gelert fed;
He watched, he served, he cheered his lord, and sentinel'd his bed,
In sooth, he was a peerless hound, the gift of royal John ;-
But now no Gelert could be found, and all the chase rode on.
And now, as over rocks and dells the gallant chidings rise,
All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells with many mingled cries.
That day Llewellyn little loved the chase of hart or hare,
And scant and small the booty proved-for Gelert was not there.
Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied; when, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied, bounding his Lord to greet.

But when he gained the castle door, aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound was smeared with gouts of gore: his lips and fangs ran
blood!

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, unused such looks to meet;

His favourite checked his joyful guise, and crouched and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed-and on went Gelert too! And still, where'er his eyes were cast, fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!

O'erturned his infant's bed he found! the blood-stained covert rent; And all around the walls and ground with recent blood besprent! He called his child-no voice replied! he searched with terror wild, Blood blood! he found on every side but nowhere found the child!

"Hell-hound! by thee my child's devoured!" the frantic father cried,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword he plunged in Gelert's side!—
His suppliant as to earth he fell, no pity could impart;
But still his Gelert's dying yell, passed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, some slumberer wakened nigh;
What words the parent's joy can tell, to hear his infant cry!
Concealed beneath a mangled heap his hurried search had missed,
All glowing from his rosy sleep his cherub boy he kissed!

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread-but the same couch beneath,
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead-tremendous still in death!

Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain! for now the truth was clear;
The gallant hound the wolf had slain, to save Llewellyn's heir.
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe: "Best of thy kind, adieu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low, this heart shall ever rue!"
-And now a gallant tomb they raise, with costly sculpture decked;
And marbles, storied with his praise, poor Gelert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman pass, or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
And here he hung his horn and spear; and oft, as evening fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear poor Gelert's dying yell!

XXXIV.—A SHIP SINKING.-Wilson.
-HER giant form,

O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm, would go

Mid the deep darkness white as snow!

But gently now the small waves glide,
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.

So stately her bearing, so proud her array,

The main she will traverse for ever and aye.

Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!

-Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last.
Five hundred souls, in one instant of dread,

Are hurried o'er the deck;

And fast the miserable ship

Becomes a lifeless wreck!

Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock

Her planks are torn asunder,

And down come her masts with a reeling shock,

And a hideous crash, like thunder!

Her sails are draggled in the brine,

That gladdened late the skies;

And her pendant, that kissed the fair moonshine,

Down many a fathom lies.

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues

Gleamed softly from below,

And flung a warm and sunny flush

O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down,

To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.

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