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I had much rather be myself the slave,
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.
We have no slaves at home-then why abroad ?
And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave
That parts us, are emancipate and loos’d.
Slaves cannot breathe in England : if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free ;
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
That's poble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then,
And let it circulate through ev'ry vein
Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.--COWPER,
The morning in summer. The meek-ey'd morn appears, mother of dews, At first faint gleaming in the dappled east; Till far o'er ether spreads the wid’ning glow; And from before the lustre of her face White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step Brown night retires : young day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide. The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. Blue, thro' the dusk, the smoking currents shine ; And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps, awkward : while along the forest-glade The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze At early passenger. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Rous’d by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where witb peace he dwells; And from the crowded fold, in order, drives His flock to taste the verdure of the morn.
Falsely luxurious, will not man awake; And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour,
To meditation due and sacred song ?
For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ?
To lie in dead oblivion, losing half
The fleeting moments of too short a life;
Total extinction of th’ enlightened soul!:
Or else to feverish vanity alive,
Wilder'd, and tossing thro’ distemper'd dreams?
Who would, in such a gloomy state, remain
Longer than nature craves; when ev'ry muse
And every blooming pleasure waits without,
To bless the wildly devious morning walk ?-THOMSON.
SECTION II. Rural sourds, as well as rural sights, delightful. Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music, not unlike The dash of ocean on his winding shore, And Jull the spirit while they fill the mind, Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast flutt'ring all at once. Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods ; or on the softer voice Of neighb'ring fountain ; or of rills that slip Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall . Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that, with a livelier green, Betrays the secret of their silent course. Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds ; B:it animated nature sweeter still, To sooth and satisfy the human ear. Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The live-long night. Nor these alone, whose notes Nice finger'd art must emulate in vain; But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime, In still repeated circles, screaming loud, The jay, the pye, and ev’n the boding owi That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, And only there, please highly for their sake.--COWPER.
The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower,
Which Mary to. Anna convey'd ;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill?d, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd;
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!..
I snapp'd it-it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part,
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart,
Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile : And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.--COWPER.
Care of birds for their young. As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, Not to be tempted from her tender task, Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, Tho' the whole loosen'd spring around her blows, Her sympathising partner takes his stand High on th' opponent bank, and ceaseless sings The tedious time away ; or else supplies Her place a moment, while she sudden flits To pick the scanty meal. Th' appointed time With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young, Warm’d and expanded into perfect life, Their brittle bondaye break, and come to light, A helpless family, demanding food With constant clamour. O what passions then, What melting, sentiments of kindly care, On the new parents seize! Away they fly Affectionate, and undesiring bear.
The most delicious morsel to their young;
Which equally distributed, again.
The search begins. Even so a gentle pair,
By fortune sunk, but form’d of gen'rous mould,
And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast, s
In some lone cot amid the distant woods,
Sustain'd alone by providential Heay'n,
Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train,
Check their own appetites, and give them all. ---THOMSON.
Liberty and slavery contrasted. Part of a letter written from
Italy by Addison.
How has kind Heav'n adorn'd the happy land, .
And scatter'd blessings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhausted stores,
Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores,
With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart,
The smiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud oppression in her valleys reigns,
And tyranny usurps her happy plains ?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The redd’ning orange, and the swelling grain ;
Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines.
Oh, Liberty, thou pow'r supremely bright,
Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight!
Perpetual pleasures in thy presence reign ;
And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train.
Easid of her load, subjection grows more light;
And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight.
Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay ;
Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day.
On foreign mountains, may the sun refine
The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine;
With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
And the fat olive swell with floods of oil :
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies ;
Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine,
Tho'o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine :
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,
And makes her barren rocks, and her bleak mountains smale.
Charity. A paraphrase on the 13th chapter of the first
epistle to the Corinthians.
Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounc'd or angel sung ;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or science can define ;
And had I pow'r to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth ;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire ; .
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,
When Moses gave them miracles, and law :
Yet, gracious charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy pow'r exerted in my breast;
Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r;
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A cymbal's sound were better than my voice;
My faith were form; my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guide
Betwixt vile shame, and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provok’d, she easily forgives ; :
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives ;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even ;
And opens in each heart a little heay'n.
Each other gift, wbich God on man bestows,
Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows ;
To one fix'd purpose dedicates its pow'r ;
And finishing its act, exists no more
Thus, in obedience to what Heav'n decrees,
Koowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease ;
But lasting charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live ;
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass,
Our eye observes the distant planets pass ;
A little we discover; but allow,
That more remains unseen, than art can show i