But now the fair rivers of Paradise wind

Through countries and kingdoms o'erthrown:
Where the giant of Tyranny crushes mankind,
Where he reigns,-and will soon reign alone;
For wide and more wide, o'er the sun-beaming zone,
He stretches his hundred-fold arms,

Despoiling, destroying its charms;

Beneath his broad footstep the Ganges is dry,
And the mountains recoil from the flash of his eye.

Thus the pestilent Upas, the Demon of trees,
Its boughs o'er the wilderness spreads,
And with livid contagion polluting the breeze,
Its mildewing influence sheds :

The birds on the wing, and the flowers in their beds,
Are slain by its venomous breath,

That darkens the noonday with death;

And pale ghosts of travellers wander around,

While their mouldering skeletons whiten the ground.

Ah! why hath JEHOVAH, in forming the world,
With the waters divided the land,

His ramparts of rocks round the continent hurl'd,
And cradled the Deep in his hand,

If man may transgress his eternal command,
And leap o'er the bounds of his birth,
To ravage the uttermost earth,

And violate nations and realms that should be
Distinct as the billows, yet one as the sea?

There are, gloomy OCEAN! a brotherless clan,
Who traverse thy banishing waves

The

poor disinherited outcasts of man,

Whom Avarice coins into slaves:

From the homes of their kindred, their forefathers' graves,

Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss,

They are dragg'd on the hoary abyss;

The shark hears their shrieks, and, ascending to day,

Demands of the spoiler his share of the prey.

Then joy to the tempest that whelms them beneath,
And makes their destruction its sport!
But wo to the winds that propitiously breathe,
And waft them in safety to port,

Where the vultures and vampires of Mammon resort; Where Europe exultingly drains

The life-blood from Africa's veins;

Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod,
And spurns at his footstool the image of God!

The hour is approaching,-a terrible hour!
And Vengeance is bending her bow;
Already the clouds of the hurricane lour,

And the rock-rending whirlwinds blow:
Back rolls the huge OCEAN, Hell opens below:
The floods return headlong,—they sweep
The slave-cultured lands to the deep;

In a moment entomb'd in the horrible void,
By their Maker Himself in his anger destroy'd!

Shall this be the fate of the cane-planted isles,
More lovely than clouds in the west,

When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smiles
Sinks softly and sweetly to rest?

-NO!-Father of mercy! befriend the opprest;
At the voice of thy Gospel of

peace

May the sorrows of Africa cease;

And the slave and his master devoutly unite
To walk in thy freedom, and dwell in thy light !*

As homeward my weary-wing'd Fancy extends
Her star-lighted course through the skies,
High over the mighty Atlantic ascends,

And turns upon Europe her

eyes;

Ah me! what new prospects, new horrors arise!

* Alluding to the glorious success of the Moravian Missionaries among the Negroes in the West Indies.

I see the war-tempested flood

All foaming, and panting with blood;

The panic-struck OCEAN in agony roars,

Rebounds from the battle, and flies to his shores;

For BRITANNIA is wielding the trident to-day,

Consuming her foes in her ire,

And hurling the thunder of absolute sway
From her wave-ruling chariots of fire:

-She triumphs;-the winds and the waters conspire To spread her invincible name;

-The universe rings with her fame;

-But the cries of the fatherless mix with her praise,
And the tears of the widow are shed on her bays.*

O Britain! dear Britain! the land of my birth;
O Isle, most enchantingly fair!

Thou Pearl of the Ocean! Thou Gem of the Earth!
O my Mother! my Mother! beware;

For wealth is a phantom, and empire a snare:

O let not thy birthright be sold

For reprobate glory and gold!

Thy distant dominions like wild graftings shoot,

They weigh down thy trunk-they will tear up thy root:

The root of thine OAK, O my country! that stands

Rock-planted, and flourishing free;

Its branches are stretch'd o'er the uttermost lands,
And its shadow eclipses the sea:

The blood of our ancestors nourish'd the tree;
From their tombs, from their ashes it sprung;
Its boughs with their trophies are hung;

Their spirit dwells in it :—and, hark! for it spoke ;
The voice of our fathers ascends from their Oak:-

*While the author was meditating these stanzas, in sight of the ocean from the northern cliffs, intelligence arrived of the naval victory of Sir Robert Calder, over the French and Spanish fleets off the western coast of Spain.

"Ye Britons, who dwell where we conquer'd of old,
Who inherit our battle-field graves;

Though poor were your fathers,-gigantic and bold,
We were not, we could not be slaves;

But firm as our rocks, and as free as our waves,
The spears of the Romans we broke,

We never stoop'd under their yoke;

In the shipwreck of nations we stood up alone,-
The world was great CÆSAR's, but Britain our own.

"For ages and ages, with barbarous foes,

The Saxon, Norwegian, and Gaul,

We wrestled, were foil'd, were cast down, but we rose
With new vigour, new life from each fall;

By all we were conquer'd :—we conquer'd them all! -The cruel, the cannibal mind,

We soften'd, subdued, and refined:

Bears, wolves, and sea monsters, they rush'd from their den; We taught them, we tamed them, we turn'd them to men.

"Love led the wild hordes in his flower-woven bands, The tenderest, strongest of chains :

Love married our hearts, he united our hands,

And mingled the blood in our veins;

One race we became :-on the mountains and plains
Where the wounds of our country were closed,
The Ark of Religion reposed,

The unquenchable Altar of Liberty blazed,

And the Temple of Justice in Mercy was raised.

66

Ark, Altar, and Temple, we left with our breath!
To our children, a sacred bequest:

O guard them, O keep them, in life and in death!
So the shades of your fathers shall rest,

And your spirits with ours be in Paradise blest:
-Let Ambition, the sin of the brave,

And Avarice, the soul of a slave,

No longer seduce your affections to roam

From Liberty, Justice, Religion, AT HOME.”

THE COMMON LOT.

A Birthday Meditation, during a solitary winter walk, of seven miles, between a village in Derbyshire and Sheffield, when the ground was covered with snow, the sky serene, and the morning air intensely pure.

ONCE in the flight of ages past,

There lived a man:-and WHO was HE?

-Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,

That Man resembled Thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown:
His name has perish'd from the earth;
This truth survives alone :-

That joy and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast;
His bliss and wo,-a smile, a tear!
-Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirits' rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd, but his pangs are o'er ;
Enjoy'd, but his delights are fled;
Had friends, his friends are now no more;

And foes,-his foes are dead.

He loved, but whom he loved, the grave
Hath lost in its unconscious womb:
Oh, she was fair!—but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encounter'd all that troubles thee:
He was whatever thou hast been;
He is what thou shalt be.