Thirdly and lastly, resolved, that we force Our blood-thirsty tyrants to this wise resource; Once more the pattering of countless feet And general acclamation, Declared all plans were now complete, At this, a troop of dragon-flies, With loud vociferation, Arose, and looking wondrous wise, Denounced all agitation. "We may not hope to change," said they, "What nature hath decreed, That some were formed for slavery, Is evidenced indeed." Another gang, with galaxies Of eyes like constellations, Stook up and said: "'tis better, sirs, To stop these agitations. They'll only lead to civil strife, And more insidious trappings, By which we'll lose more precious life, Than years of such kidnapping. Besides, 'tis not the better class, We shudder at the thought of war, And dread of dissolution. We, therefore, cannot recommend So hazardous a position; Our boast of equal rights would end The weak should always yield to might, The spider, therefore, deems it right Let those whom nature's hand hath fitted, To serve this humble end, Be not by fiery zealots pitted Against ther fate, in bold defiance Worthies refrain from all alliance Shine o'er our paths, where'er we run, Thus spake this cow'ring, servile crew, And then exultingly withdrew, 'Mid rapturous applause. Resistless roll'd this mighty flood Of suasive eloquence, While from the assembled multitude, May gentle peace, while yonder sun, "Twas plain the wind had tuned her pipes, To quite a different air; And they who would not dance to stripes, F'en liberty's most ardent friends, And at last, to gain some private end, "The public weal demands," said they, Let's give at least to tyranny A peaceable possession. Our only sacrifice will be A weak and worthless tribe, And by this compromise, you see, Without respect to grade or caste : Its tendency has ever been, By precept we may hope to win,- Let each discordant note be tuned, Time oft hath healed a deeper wound,— A FRAGMENT. There is a time, when yet the mind is new, That thoughts half-fledged go forth on feeble wing, And poised in ether, much bewildered, view Through fancy's glass, the gliding forms that spring From unseen hands, to float awhile in air, Then like the melting mists at early dawn, Give place to brighter forms of beauty rare, That ages past from mystery have drawn. Oh, faithful time! what progeny is thine! The universe appeared at thy decree; But who made thee, thou Artisan divine! Self-made, thou art, from all eternity. Presumptuous thoughts, abortions of the mind, Of sickly birth, and creatures of a day. How vain, to scan what God himself designed, And call his perfect work Time's progeny. Blind Fate ! did'st thou, through ever-during dark, Grope o'er the elements that formed this world, And strike from chaos first the electric spark, That lit up space where mad confusion whirled! Crude matter sublimed, and rolling nebulæ, Which time hath since reduced to radiant suns, And from the foam, hath formed a galaxy, That through high heaven's expanse unbroken runs. REFLECTIONS IN YOUTH. One summer's morn, as I strolled along, Of love, and deep humility. Through every fabric that Nature weaves (Yet meekly bends as the gales sweep past,) And made of this bright fair earth a hell. From age remote, o'er a boundless waste, THE VOYAGE OF LIFE-A SONG. How rights the ship, when the world goes merrily, How rights the ship, as her sails catch greedily |