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So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.
The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bed;
And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows,

And fruitless sorrow shed.
“ 'T is past!” he cried—“but if your souls

Sweet mercy yet can move,
Let these dim eyes once more behold,

What they must ever love!”
She came; his cold hand softly touch'd,

And bathed with many a tear :
Fast falling o'er the primrose pale,

So morning dews appear.
But, oh! his sister's jealous care,

A cruel sister she,
Forbade what Emma came to say;

“My Edwin, live for me!”
Now homeward as she hopeless wept

The church-yard path along,
The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd

Her lover's funeral song.
Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,

His groan in every sound.
Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd

The visionary vale,
When, lo! the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad sounding in the gale !

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Just then she reach'd with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door-

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.

MALLET.

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;

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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 sing my love-lorn ditty,

Still I slowly pace the plain;
While each passer-by, in pity,
Cries, “God help thee, Crazy Jane!"

LEWIS.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.
FORCED from home and all its pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn,
To increase the stranger's treasures,

O'er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,

Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though slave they have enroll’d me,

Minds are never to be sold.

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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 ;

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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.

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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?

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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.

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By our blood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries that we tasted,

Crossing, in your barks, the main;

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By our sufferings, since ye brought us

To the man-degrading mart,
All sustain'd by patience, taught us

Only by a broken heart;
Deem our nation brutes no longer,

Till some reason ye shall find
Worthier of regard, and stronger

Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings

Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that you have human feelings, 65
Ere you proudly question ours !

COWPER.

THE ROSE.
The rose had been wash’d, just wash'd in a shower,

Which Mary to Anna convey'd ;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower

And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, 5

And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret

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.

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