MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

A few seem favourites of state,

In pleasure's lap carest,
Yet think not all the rich and great

A re likewise truly blest;
But oh! what crouds in ev'ry land

Are wretched and forlorn;
Thro' weary life this lesson learn,

That man was made to mourn !

Many and sharp the num'rous ills

Inwoven with our frane; More pointed still we make ourselves

Regret-remorse and shame. And Man, whose heav'n-erected face

The smiles or love adorn : Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn !

See yonder poor o'er-labour'd wight,

So abject, mean and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth

To give him leave to toil; And see his lordly fellow-worm

The poor petition spurn, Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife

And belpless offspring ourn!

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave

By nature's law design’d, Why was an independent wish

F'er planted in my mind,
If not-why am I subject to

His cruelty or scorn;
Or why has man the will or pow'r

To make his fellow mourn ?

Yet let not this too much my son

Disturb thy youthful breast;
This partial view of human kind

Is surely not the last :
The poor oppressed honest man

Had never sure been born,
Had there not been some recompence

To comfort those that mourn !

O Death! the poor man's dearest friend,

The kindest and the best:
Welcome the bour my aged limbs

Are laid with thee at rest!
The great and wealthy fear thy blow,

From pomp and pleasure torn;
But oh! a blest relief to those

That weary-laden mourn!

THE POOR SLAVE.

0! does not mercy shudder to behold Life-freedom barter'd for a Christian's gold ! Yes--mark the wretch who torn from Congo's

sands, Uplifts in vain his supplicating hands: And looks and weeps, and looks to look no more, On that fond home, ihat sun illumin'd shore: Condemn'd by pow'r by trade's unfeeling lust, On Indian isles to bow his neck to dust. Inhuman deed! with systematic plan, To sell the life the liberty of man ! And say, ye statesmen, coldly, who discuss The fate of him who sadly suffers thus, Do long subjection and unceasing toil, The scourge, the chains, the setter and the soil, Unhinge, undo the mental fabric so, That nature loves babituated woe; That stripes are pleasures, and that men set free Would weep. for freedon as a misery?

Thus, thus will Trade unconquer'd still by time,
Raise her base voice to cloak ihe hellish crime;
Thus will she lift the lash, and lifting smile,
As blood-earn'd-lucre centers in her isle;
Poor friendless Slave! though sable is thy skin,
Thou art a Mars thou last a soul within!

Methinks I see thee as the trumpet-horn,
Breaks on thy sleepless couch, and hails the

morn,
Steal to the shore, uplift thine eyes and weep,
Then plunge in wild despair beneath the deep.
Poor wretch! he thinks when all his woes are

o'er,
And tyrant-stripes extort the groan no more,
On wings of bliss his palmy land to know,
His painted quiver and his hunter-bow :
To range the woods, and see restor'd again,
The tiger-spoils the friendly forms of Men!

DEATII.

Friend to the wretch wliom every friend for

sakes, I woo thee, Death! in fancy's fairy paths Let the gay songster rove, and gently trill The strain of empty joy. Life and its joys I leave to those that prize them. At this hour, This solemn bour, when silence rules the world, And wearied nature makes a gen'ral pause; Wrapt in night's sable robe, through cloysters

drear And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng

Of meagre phantoms shooting cross my path
With silent glance, I seek the shadowy vale
Of death. Deep in a murky caie's recess,
Lav'd by Oblivion's listless stream, and fenc'd
By shelving rocks, and interningled horrors
Of yew and cypress shade, from all intrusion
Of busy noontide beam, the Monarch sits
In unsubstantial maje: enthron'd.
At his right hand, nearest himself in place
And frightfulness of form, his parent Sin
With fatal industry and cruel care
Busies herself in pointing all his strings,
And tipping every shaft with venom drawn
From her infernal store : around him rang d
In terrible array, and mixture strange
Of uncouth shapes, stand his dread ministers.
Forenjost old age, his natural ally
And firmest friend : next him diseases thick,
A motley train; fever, with cheek of fire;
Consumption wan; palsy, half warm with life,
And half a clay.clod lump; joint-tort'rins gout,
And ever-gnawing rheum; convulsioa wild;
Swoln dropsy; panting asthina ; apoplex
Full-gorg’d. There too the pestilence that walks
In darkness, and the sickness that destroys
At broad noon-day. These, and a thousand more,
Horrid to tell, atlentive wait; and, when
By Heav'n's command Death waves his ebon

wand,
Sudden rush forth to extcute his purpose,