"If the matter depended alone upon me, I His apples might hang till they dropt from the tree; But, since they will take them, I think I'H go too, He will lose none by me, though I get a few." His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to seize; He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan: He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. THE MORNING DREAM, "Twas in the glad season of spring, Far hence to the westward I sailed, And the fresh blowing breeze never failed. In the steerage a woman I saw, Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impressed me with awe, Ne'er taught me by woman before. She sat, and a shield at her side Shed light, like a sun on the waves, And smiling divinely, she cried "I go to make Freemen of Slaves." Then raising her voice to a strain The sweetest, that ear ever heard, Thus swiftly dividing the flood, To a slave-cultured island we came, In his hand, as the sign of his sway, But soon as approaching the land That goddess-like woman he viewed, The scourge he let fall from his hand, With blood of his subjects imbrued. THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. 251 I saw him both sicken and die, And the moment the monster expired, Heard shouts, that ascended the sky, From thousands with rapture inspired. Awaking, how could I but muse At what such a dream should betide? But soon my ear caught, the glad news, Which served my weak thought for a guide— That Britannia, renowned o'er the waves For the hatred, she ever has shown, To the black-sceptered rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own. THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long 252 NIE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WOKAY. A something shining in the dark, Their real interest to discern; That brother should not war with brother, But sing and shine by sweet consent, The gifts of nature and of grace. Those Christians best deserve the name, ON A GOLDFINCH STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE, at potage-only N TIME was when I was free as air, II. But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain, For caught and caged, and starved to death, In dying sighs my little breath Soon passed, the wiry grate... HIL Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes, And cure of every ill! dgn More cruelty could none express; |