The parrot pent in wiry cage

Its fluttering pinions beats in vain: So vain our grief, so vain our rage, When reeling on the restless main.

God save us all from fell remorse,

Revenge, and wrath, and proud disdain ;

For ever bad, 'tis ten times worse
To meet them on the desert main.

When flames most bright and fierce aspire, Water can still their force restrain;

But vivid flames of sparkling fire

Flash from the surges of the main.

On wondrous fins the fishes fly,
Like birds, along the ocean-plain,
In flocks, like sparrows, soar on high,
And sport and glitter on the main.

Sea-monsters roll so huge and blue,

I dread to name them in my strain, That at one gulp both ship and crew

Could swallow on the weltering main.

Dark demons of portentous form,

That heaven's vast arch can scarce contain, You see them stalking in the storm,

When journeying on the desert main.

Till death his fatal arrows speed,
No soul escapes from mortal pain:
Of death and all his darts no need
Have they who journey on the main.

From all these ghastly scenes of fear,
That well might turn a poet's brain,

To find myself in safety here,

Foils all the marvels of the main,

THE FIGHT OF PRAYA.*

A MALAY DIRGE.

WARRIORS! chieftains of Malaya!

You shall live in endless light,

Though you vanish'd in the night, Perish'd in the fight of Praya.

Foot to foot, and man to man,

When beneath the burning beam
Burnish'd lances brightest gleam,

You the combat still began.

* The fight of Praya occurred in 1791, when the King or Rajah of Kiddeh was surprised in a night attack by Light, Governor of Penang, and defeated with great loss. The Rajah declared after the route that he was ashamed of having ever been the friend of people who fought in the night, and without giving fair warning.

Shouts of battle, heard afar,

Bade your foes the steel prepare,

Give the winds their coal-black hair,

March to meet the coming war.

Not a breeze convey'd the tale

When the whites began the fray : Sure they fear'd the eye of day Should see their faces ghastly pale.

Now, in forms of finer air,

While these grassy graves you view,
Scent the flowerets that we strew,

List the

vengeance that we swear!

Warriors, o'er each ridgy tomb

The mournful marjoram shall grow,
And the grave-flowers pale shall blow,

Sad memorials of your doom!

O'er your long-lamented clay

The unrelenting blood shall flow

Of the vengeful buffalo,

And his frontlets broad decay.

Chieftains! warriors of Malaya!

You shall be aveng'd in light,

Though you perish'd in the night, Perish'd in the fight of Praya.