THE YOUNG NEGRO WOMEN'S SONG.
THE loud wind roar'd, the rain fell fast;
The white man yielded to the blast :
He sat him down beneath our tree;
For weary, sad, and faint was he;
And, ah! no wife, or mother's care,
For him the milk or corn prepare.
The white man shall our pity share;
Alas! no wife, or mother's care,
For him the milk or corn prepare!
The storm is o'er, the tempest past;
And Mercy's voice has hush'd the blast.
The wind is heard in whispers low;
The white man far away must go;
But ever in his heart will bear
Remembrance of the Negro's care.
Go, white man, go; but with thee bear
The Negro's wish; the Negro's prayer;
Remembrance of the Negro's care.
Duchess of Devonshire.
OVER the mountain, and over the moor,
Hungry, and barefoot, I wander forlorn ;
My father is dead, and my mother is poor,
And she grieves for the days that will never return.
Pity, kind gentlemen! friends of humanity!
Cold blows the wind, and the night's coming on:
Give me some food for my mother, for charity;
Give me some food, and then I will be gone.
Call me not lazy-back, beggar, and bold-enough,
Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew;
I've two little brothers at home, when their old enough
They will work hard for the gifts you bestow.
Pity, kind gentlemen! &c.
Think while you revel so careless and free,
Secure from the wind, and well clothed and fed;
Should fortune so change it, how hard it would be
To beg at a door for a morsel of bread.
Pity, kind gentlemen! &c.
ON THE DEATH OF MISS CROOKSHANK. Supposed to be spoken at the Interment.
"THY fragrant bosom, EARTH, unfold,
And lightly lay thy softest mould:
We bring a slumb'rer full of charms,
To lodge her in thy gloomy arms.
"Let roses shed unfading bloom,
And lilies flourish round her tomb;
Roses and lilies best could show
The beauteous face that fades below.
May no rude step disturb the ground
Where this reposing babe is found;
While cherubs here their vigils keep,
And guard her dust, and sooth her sleep.
"But think not, GRAVE, that we resign
This treasure as for ever thine ;
We only ask a transient stay,
Till heav'n unfolds th' eternal day
"Then shall this mould'ring frame of flesh
Spring forth in blooming life afresh;
And DEATH, that swallows ALL, shall be
Swallow'd himself in victory."
ON THE SINGING OF A ROBIN.
Now to some tree's aspiring bough,
That drops its faded leaves below,
Or to some barn's straw-cover'd height
The Redbreast wings his ev'ning flight.
Pleas'd I attend his tuneful throat, While winter shivers in his note, Prophetic of long months of gloom, Tempests and sleets, and snows to come.
Stay, feather'd innocent, and sing,
Till nature wakes the blooming spring;
And, while the lark denies his song,
Do thou thy living strains prolong.
How glad, sweet warbler, should I be,
Could I but mingle joys with thee;
And, while life's wintry state remains,
Charm the dull shades, and sooth my pains.
SOFT kisses may be innocent,
But, ah! too easy maid, beware; Though that is all thy kindness meant, 'Tis love's delusive fatal snare.
No virgin e'er at first design'd
Through all the maze of love to stray;
But each new path allures her mind,
Till wand'ring on, she lose her way.
'Tis easy ere set out to stay;
But who the useful art can teach, When sliding down the steepy way, To stop, before the end we reach ?
Keep ever something in thy pow'r,
Beyond what would thy honour stain:
He will not dare to aim at more,
Who for small favours sighs in vain.
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