many a carcase shine the dews of night, And a dead silence stills the vale
Save when at times is heard the glutted raven's scream.
Where some wrecked army from the conqueror's might Speed their disastrous flight,
With thee, fierce genius! let me trace their way, And hear at times the deep heart-groan
Of some poor sufferer left to die alone,
His sore wounds smarting with the winds of night; And we will pause, where, on the wild,
The mother to her frozen breast,
On the heaped snows reclining clasps her child,
And with him sleeps, chilled to eternal rest!
Black Horror! speed we to the bed of death,
Where he whose murderous power afar
Blasts with the myriad plagues of war,
Struggles with his last breath;
Then to his wildly-starting eyes
The phantoms of the murdered rise;
Then on his phrensied ear
Their groans for vengeance and the demon's yell
In one heart-maddening chorus swell.
Cold on his brow convulsing stands the dew,
And night eternal darkens on his view.
Horror! I call thee yet once more!
Bear me to that accursed shore
Where round the stake the impaled negro writhes.
Assume thy sacred terrors then! dispense
The blasting gales of pestilence!
Arouse the race of Afric! holy power,
Lead them to vengeance! and in that dread hour
When ruin rages wide,
I will behold and smile by Mercy's side.
AND wouldst thou seek the low abode
Where peace delights to dwell?
Pause traveller on thy way of life!
With many a snare and peril rife
Is that long labyrinth of road:
Dark is the vale of years before;
Pause traveller on thy way!
Nor dare the dangerous path explore
Till old experience comes to lend his leading ray.
Not he who comes with lanthorn light
Shall guide thy groping pace aright
With faltering feet and slow;
No! let him rear the torch on high,
And every maze shall meet thine eye,
And every snare and every foe;
Then with steady step and strong,
Traveller, shalt thou march along.
Though power invite thee to her hall,
Regard not thou her tempting call
Her splendour's meteor glare;
Though courteous flattery there await
And wealth adorn the doom of state,
There stalks the midnight spectre, Care;
Peace, traveller! does not sojourn there.
If fame allure thee, climb not thou
To that steep mountain's craggy brow,
Where stands her stately pile;
For far from thence does peace abide,
And thou shalt find fame's favouring smile Cold as the feeble sun on Hecla's snow-clad side.
And, traveller! as thou hopest to find
That low and loved abode,
Retire thee from the thronging road,
And shun the mob of human-kind.
Ah! hear how old experience schools,
"Fly, fly the crowd of knaves and fools,
And thou shalt fly from woe;
The one thy heedless heart will greet
With Judas smile, and thou wilt meet
In every fool a foe!"
So safely mayst thou pass from these,
And reach secure the home of peace,
And friendship find thee there.
No happier state can mortal know,
No happier lot can earth bestow,
If love thy lot shall share.
Yet still content with him may dwell
Whom Hymen will not bless,
And virtue sojourn in the cell
Of hermit happiness.
THE MORNING MIST.
LOOK, William, how the morning mists
Have covered all the scene,
Nor house nor hill canst thou behold,
Grey wood, or meadow green.
The distant spire across the vale
These floating vapours shroud,
Scarce are the neighbouring poplars seen,
Pale shadowed in the cloud.
But seest thou, William, where the mists
Sweep o'er the southern sky,
The dim effulgence of the sun
That lights them as they fly?
Soon shall that glorious orb of day
In all his strength arise,
And roll along his azure way,
Through clear and cloudless skies.
Then shall we see across the vale
The village spire so white,
And the grey wood and meadow green
Shall live again in light.
So, William, from the moral world
The clouds shall pass away;
The light that struggles through them now
Shall beam eternal day.
TO THE BURNIE* BEE.
BLITHE Son of summer, furl thy filmy wing,
Alight beside me on this bank of moss;
Yet to its sides the lingering shadows cling,
And sparkling dews the dark-green tufts emboss.
Here mayst thou freely quaff the nectar'd sweet
That in the violet's purple chalice hides,
Here on the lily scent thy fringed feet,
Or with the wild-thyme's balm anoint thy sides.
Back o'er thy shoulders throw those ruby shards
With many a tiny coal-black freckle deckt,
My watchful look thy loitering saunter guards,
My ready hand thy footstep shall protect.
Daunted by me beneath this trembling bough
On forked wing no greedy swallow sails,
No hopping sparrow pries for food below,
Nor evet lurks, nor dusky blindworm trails.
Nor shall the swarthy gaoler for thy way
His grate of twinkling threads successful strain, With venom'd trunk thy writhing members slay, Or from thy heart the reeking life's-blood drain.
Forego thy wheeling in the sunny air, Thy glancing to the envious insects round, To the dim calmness of my bower repair, Silence and coolness keep its hallowed ground. Here to the elves who sleep in flowers by day Thy softest hum in lulling whispers pour, Or o'er the lovely band thy shield display, When blue-eyed twilight sheds her dewy shower.
* A provincial name of the beetle coccinella, or lady-bird.
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