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So fades the fresh rose in its prime,
Before the northern blast.
Hung o'er his dying bed;
And fruitless sorrow shed.
Sweet mercy yet can move,
What they must ever love!”
And bathed with many a tear :
So morning dews appear.
A cruel sister she,
“My Edwin, live for me!”
The church-yard path along,
Her lover's funeral song.
Her startling fancy found
His groan in every sound.
The visionary vale,
Sad sounding in the gale !
Just then she reach'd with trembling step,
9C “He's gone!” she cried ; " and I shall see
That angel-face no more. “I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high against my side" From her white arm down sunk her head; 95 She shivering sigh’d, and died.
CRAZY JANE. OCCASIONED BY A LADY'S BEING ALARMED AT A
MAD WOMAN KNOWN BY THAT APPELLATION. WHY, fair maid, in every feature
Are such signs of fear express'd ? Can a wandering, wretched creature
With such terror fill thy breast ? Do my phrensied looks alarm thee?
Trust me, sweet, thy fears are vain: Not for kingdoms would I harm thee;
Shun not then poor Crazy Jane. Dost thou weep to see my anguish ?
Mark me, and avoid my woe; When men flatter, sigh, and languish,
Think them false; I found them so : For I loved; Oh! so sincerely
None could ever love again; But the youth I loved so dearly,
Stole the wits of Crazy Jane. Fondly my young heart received him,
Which was doom'd to love but one;
He sigh’d, he vow'd, and I believed him;
He was false, and I undone. From that hour has Reason never
Held her empire o'er my brain; Henry fled: with him for ever
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.
Now forlorn and broken-hearted,
And with phrenzied thoughts beset, On that spot where last we parted,
On that spot where first we met,
Still I slowly pace the plain;
THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.
Afric's coast I left forlorn,
O'er the raging billows borne.
Paid my price in paltry gold;
Minds are never to be sold.
Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task ? Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit Nature's claim ;
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same.
Why did all-creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards ; Think how many backs have smarted
For the sweet your cane affords.
Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there One who reigns on high ? Has He bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from His throne, the sky ? Ask Him, if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges
Agents of His will to use?
Hark! He answers—wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which He speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's sons should undergo, Fix'd their tyrants’ habitations
Where His whirlwinds answer-No.
By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries that we tasted,
Crossing, in your barks, the main;
By our sufferings, since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart,
Only by a broken heart;
Till some reason ye shall find
Than the colour of our kind.
Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Which Mary to Anna convey'd ;
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
On the flourishing bush where it grew. 1 hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapp'd it; it fell to the ground. “And such," I exclaim'd, "is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind, Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 15 Already to sorrow resign’d.