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BEwARE a speedy friend, the Arabian said,
TO A GOOSE.
If thou didst feed on western plains of yore;
I MArvel not, O sun' that unto thee
Fain be thy fortunes in the distant land,
FAREwell my home, my home no longer now,
Pomlock, thy verdant vale so fair to sight,
August 9, 1799.
STATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide,
O God have mercy in this dreadful hour On the poor mariner! in comfort here Safe shelter'd as I am, I almost fear The blast that rages with resistless power. What were it now to toss upon the waves, The madden'd waves, and know no succour near; The howling of the storm alone to hear, And the wild sea that to the tempest raves, To gaze amid the horrors of the night And only see the billow's gleaming light; And in the dread of death to think of her Who, as she listens sleepless to the gale, Puts up a silent prayer and waxes pale?— O God! have mercy on the mariner! 1709.
She comes majestic with her swelling sails,
| A wrinkled, crabbed man they picture thee,
THE AMATORY POEMS OF ABEL SHUFFLEBOTTOM,
DELIA AT PLAY.
She held a Cup and Hall of Ivory white,
TO A PAINTER AT TEMPTING DELIA'S
RAsh Painter! canst thou give the ord of DAY
The diamonn, that athwart the taper'd hall flings the rich flashes of its dazzling light? Even if thine art could boast such magic might,
Yet if it strove to paint my Angel's Eye,
here it perforce must fail. Cease! lest I call
Heaven's vengeance on thy sin: Must thou be told The crime it is to paint divinity?
Rash Painter! should the world her charms behold,
They to their old idolatry would fall,
HE PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF A SOUL FROM HIS LOVE FOR DELIA.
SoME have denied a soul! They Never loved. Far from my Delia now by fate removed, At home, abroad, I view her every where; Her only in the Flood of Noon I see. My Goddess-Maid, my omnipresent rain, For Love annihilates the world to me! And when the weary Sol around his bed - Closes the sanle cuat Ains of the night, SUN of My slux dens, on my dazzled sight She shines confest. When every sound is dead, The spirit of hea voice comes then to roll The surge of music o'er my wavy brain. Far, far from her my Body drags its chain, But sure with Delia I exist A soul!
THE POET EXPRESSES HIS FEELINGS RESPECTING A PORTRAIT IN DELIA'S PARLOUR.
I would I were that Reverend Gentleman
THE POET RELATES HOW HE OBTAINED DELIAS POCKET-IIANDKERCHIEF. T is mine! what accents can my joy declare? Blest be the pressure of the througing rout! Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair, That left the tempting corner hanging out!
I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels,
When at the relic of his saint he kueels,
when first with filching fingers I drew near, Keen hope shot trenulous through every vein,
And when the finish’d deed removed my far, Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain.
what though the Eighth Commandment rose to mind,
As all in the labour had shared, So justly they shared in the fruits.
Thou visible Lord of the Earth, Thou God of my Fathers, thou God of my heart, O Giver of light and of life! When the Strangers came to our shores, Why didst thou not put forth thy power? Thy thunders should then have been hurl’d, Thy fires should in lightnings have slash'd 1– Visible God of the Earth, The Strangers mock at thy might! To idols and beams of wood They force us to bow the knee! They plunge us in caverns and dens, Where never thy blessed light Shines on our poisonous toil' But not in the caverns and dens, O Sun, are we mindless of thee! We pine for the want of thy beams, We adore thee with anguish and groans.
My Father, rest in peace Rest with the dust of thy Sires! They placed their Cross in thy dying grasp :They bore thee to their burial-place, And over thy breathless frame Their bloody and merciless Priest Mumbled his mystery words. Oh! could thy bones be at peace In the fields where the Strangers are laid?-Alone, in danger and in pain, My Father, I bring thee here: So may our God, in reward, Allow me one faithful friend To lay me beside thee when I am released So may he release me soon, That my Spirit may join thee there, Where the Strangers never shall come! 1799.
SONG OF THE ARAUCANS DURING A Tri UNDER STORM."
The storm-cloud grows deeper above; Araucans! the tempest is ripe in the sky; Our forefathers come from their Islands of Bliss,
They come to the war of the winds.
The Souls of the Strangers are there, In their garments of darkness they ride through the heaven; Yon cloud that rolls luridly over the hill Is red with their weapons of fire.
* Respecting storms, the people of Chili are of opinion that, the departed souls are returning from their abode beyond the sea to assist their relations and friends. Accordingly, when it thunders over the mountains, they think that the souls of their forefathers are taken in an engagement with those of the Spaniards. The roaring of the winds they take to be the noise of horsemen attacking one another, the howling of the tempest for the beating of drums, and the claps of thunder for the discharge of miskets and cannons.— When the wind drives the clouds towards the possessions of the
Spaniards, they rejoice that the souls of their forefathers have re
pulsed those of their enemies, and call out aloud to them to give them no quarter. When the contrary happens, they are troubled and dejected, and encourage the yielding souls to rally their forces, and summon up the last remains of their strength.--Aleixen.
Hark! hark' in the howl of the wind The shout of the battle, the clang of their drums, The horsemen are met, and the shock of the fight
Is the blast that disbranches the wood.
Behold from the clouds of their power The lightning, -the lightning is lanced at our sires! And the thunder that silakes the broad pavement of Heaven :
And the darkness that quenches the day !
Ye Souls of our Fathers, be brave! Ye shrunk not before the invaders on carth, Ye trembled not then at their weapons of fire,
Brave Spirits, ye tremble not now!
We gaze on your warfare in hope, We send up our shouts to encourage your arms ' Lift the lance of your vengeance, O Fathers! with force,
For the wrongs of your country strike home!
Remember the land was your own t When the Sons of Destruction came over the seas; That the old fell asleep in the fullness of days,
And their children wept over their graves,
Till the Strangers came into the land With tongues of deceit and with weapons of fire : Then the strength of the people in youth was cut off,
And the father wept over his son.
It thickens—the tumult of fight! Louder and louder the blast of the battle is heard – Remember the wrongs that your country endures:
Remember the fields of your fame!
Joy! joy! for the Strangers recoil,They give way,+they retreat to the land of their life! Pursue them pursue them! remember your wrongs!
Let your lances be drunk with their wounds.
The Souls of your wives shall rejoice As they welcome you back to your Islands of Bliss: And the breeze that refreshes the toil-throbbing brow
Waft thither the song of your praise.
SONG OF THE CHIKKASAH Widow.
T was the voice of my husband that came on the gale.
The unappeased Spirit in anger complains!
The stake is made ready, the captives shall die;
To-morrow the song of their death shalt thou hear,
The vengeance of anguish shall soon have its course,_
Ollanahta, all day by thy war-pole I sat,
Where idly thy hatchet of battle is hung;