« ForrigeFortsett »
In isles that deck the western wave,
I doom'd the hapless youth to dwell,
The much-enduring Negro Boy.
Shall long explore the distant main,
They never shall the sight enjoy
Of their lamented Negro Boy.
He wears away his youthful prime,
But He who walks upon the wind,
Whose voice in thunder's heard on high,
In his own time will sure destroy
* This beautiful song was composed on occasion of an African Prince, who lately arrived in England, having been asked what he had given for his watch? to which he replied, What I will never give again, I gave a fine Negro Boy for it.
If an untutored Indian is susceptible of such poignant feelings of remorse for the share he has taken in this horrid traffic, what must his reflections be, who, contrary to the express dictates of morality, and the religion to which he has been brought up, violates all they hold sacred, in being more than a participator in it. If ever he become alive to those strong natural ties he has
FLY NOT YET.
And maids who love the moon.
Oh stay! Oh stay!
To break its link so soon.
To burn when night was near,
Oh stay! Oh stay!
As those which sparkle here.
so brutally ruptured, if ever he conceive the pangs he has occasioned to the parent bereft of the hope of his age, or the eternal-damp he has thrown over the ardour of youthful connexionallowed only to survive in bleeding, tenacious memory--the partial advantages he may have secured to himself, will prove to him only the copious sources of wretchedness, by constantly pointing at the circumstances under which they have been acquired.
When the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen,
And the meadows their beauty have lost; When nature's disrob’d of her mantle of green,
And the streams are fast bound with the frost; While the peasant, inactive, stands shiv'ring with cold,
As bleak the winds northernly blow;
With their fleeces all cover'd with snow:
In the yard while the cattle are fodder'd with straw,
And send forth their breath like a stream; And the neat-looking dairy-maid sees she must thaw
Fleaks of ice that she finds in her cream; When the sweet country maiden, as fresh as the rose,
As she carelessly trips, often slides, And the rustics loud laugh, if by falling she shows
All the charms which her modesty hides :
When the birds to the barn-door hover for food,
As with silence they rest on the spray,
Lest her footsteps her course should betray: When the lads and the lasses, in company join'd,
In a crowd round the embers are met,
And of ghosts, till they're all in a sweat;
Heav'n grant in this season it may be my lot,
With the nymph whom I love and admire,
I may thither in safety retire;
We may live, and no hardships endure,
But such as each other may cure.
THE MANSION OF PEACE.
I'll seek to replace it with art;
I'll wear it (fond youth) next my heart.
'Twas Daphne that gave thee thy place,
WHILE THE LADS IN THE VILLAGE. WHILE the lads in the village shall merrily ah,
Sound the tabor, I'll hand thee along, And I say unto thee, that merrily ah,
Thou and I will be first in the throng. Just then, when the youth who last year won the dow'r,
And his mate, shall the sports have begun; When the gay voice of gladness resounds from each bow'r, And thou long'st in thy heart to make one.
While the lads, &c. Those joys that are harmless, what mortal can blame?
'Tis my maxim, that youth should be free ; And to prove that my words and my deeds are the same, Believe thou shalt presently see.
While the lads, &c.
THOUGH I AM NOW A VERY LITTLE LAD.
TUNE_" The White Cockade." Though I am now a very little lad, If fighting men cannot be had, For want of a better I may do To follow the boys with a rat-tat-too. I may seem tender, yet I'm tough, And though not much of me, I'm right good stau Of this l'll boast, say more who can, I never was afraid to face my man,
I'm a chicka-biddy- see
Take me now, now, now,
For your row, dow, dow,
In my tartan plaid a young soldier view,
I'm a chicka-biddy, &c.
Though a barber has never yet mowed my chin,
I'm a chicka-biddy, &c,