VOL. II. Who he was, and how he fell, On that theme all time shall dwell. But henceforth, till nature dies, Mammon's plague-ships throng the waves: Not for all the gems and gold, Which thy streams and mountains hold, Land of negroes! would I dare Hercules! thy pillars stand, Where, when Cato's word was fate, And where exiled Marius sate, Mark the dens of caitiff Moors; Ha! the pirates seize their oars; -Haste we from th' accursed shores. Egypt's hieroglyphic realm Other floods than Nile's o'erwhelm, -Slaves turn'd despots hold the helm. Judah's cities are forlorn, Lebanon and Carmel shorn, Zion trampled down with scorn. Greece, thine ancient lamp is spent ; Thou art thine own monument; But the sepulchre is rent, 33 And a wind is on the wing, At whose breath new heroes spring, Rome, in ruins lovely still, Bids thee, mourner, weep thy fill. Yet where Roman genius reigns, Splendid realm of old romance, Spain, thy tower-crown'd crest advance, At the fire-flash of thine eye, Lusitania, from the dust, Shake thy locks,-thy cause is just, France, I hurry from thy shore, Great thou wast; and who like thee? Sweep by Holland like the blast, Elbe nor Weser tempt my stay; When thy schools again bear sway. Now to thee, to thee I fly, I have seen them, one by one, While I bid them all be blest, Scarborough, December, 1826. HUMILITY. THE bird that soars on highest wing, When Mary chose the "better part," She meekly sat at Jesus' feet; And Lydia's gently-open'd heart Was made for God's own temple meet; -Fairest and best adorn'd is she, Whose clothing is humility. The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown, In deepest adoration bends; The weight of glory bows him down, Then most when most his soul ascends; -Nearest the throne itself must be The footstool of humility. BIRDS. THE SWALLOW. SWALLOW, why homeward turn'd thy joyful wing? —In a far land I heard the voice of spring; I found myself that moment on the way; My wings, my wings, they had not power to stay. SKYLARKS. What hand lets fly the skylark from his rest? THE CUCKOO. Why art thou always welcome, lonely bird? But in the fields, the woods, the streams, and skies. THE RED-BREAST. Familiar warbler, wherefore art thou come? THE SPARROW. Sparrow, the gun is levell'd, quit that wall. THE RING-DOVE. Art thou the bird that saw the waters cease? -Yes, and brought home the olive-leaf of peace; Henceforth I haunt the woods of thickest green, Pleased to be often heard, but seldom seen. THE NIGHTINGALE. Minstrel, what makes thy song so sad, so sweet? Sorrow in joy, and wring delight from pain! THE WATER-WAGTAIL. What art thou made of,-air, or light, or dew? My tail, ask that,-perhaps may solve the matter: THE WREN. Wren, canst thou squeeze into a hole so small? THE THRUSH. Thrush, thrush, have mercy on thy little bill. THE BLACKBIRD. Well done!-they're noble notes, distinct and strong; THE BULLFINCH. Bully, what fairy warbles in thy throat? * Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar. June. |