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abroad Africa amidst appear arms Author beauty behold beneath birth bloom born brave breast breath Casas cast course curse dark dead death deep despair dream dust earth eternal face fair fall father's fell fire flood flowers follow freedom glory gold grace grave hand head hear heard heart heaven hope Indians isles joys land light living lyre mind morn mother mountains mysterious Nature nature's Negro never night Note o'er ocean once peace plains planted race reigns rest rise rock roll rose round scene secret shade shadow shine shore skies Slave Trade slaves slow smiled song soul spirit spread Spring star storms suffering sweet tears tell thee thou thought tide Till tomb tree trembles virtue voice wandering waste waters waves WEST INDIES Where'er wild Willow wind woes youth
Сторінка 33 - Here woman reigns : the mother, daughter, wife, Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ! In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? " Art thou a man — a patriot ? look around, O thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, That land thy country, and that spot thy home.
Сторінка 85 - Thus o'er the light jEolian lyre The winds of dark November stray, Touch the quick nerve of every wire, And on its magic pulses play ; — Till all the air around, Mysterious murmurs fill, A strange bewildering dream of sound, Most heavenly sweet,— yet mournful still.
Сторінка 6 - Sprang a new world through his stupendous thought, Light, order, beauty ! — While his mind explored The unveiling mystery, his heart adored ; Where'er sublime imagination trod, He heard the voice, he saw the face of GOD. Far from the western cliffs he cast his eye O'er the wide ocean stretching to the sky ; In calm magnificence the sun declined, And left a Paradise of clouds behind : Proud at his feet, with pomp of pearl and gold, The billows in a sea of glory rolled.
Сторінка 35 - THERE is a land of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night ; A land of beauty, virtue...
Сторінка 32 - There is a spot of earth supremely blest — A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest — Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, While in his softened looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband , brother, friend. Here woman reigns : the mother, daughter, wife, Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life...
Сторінка 84 - I GAVE my Harp to Sorrow's hand, And she has ruled the chords so long, They will not speak at my command ; — They warble only to her song. Of dear, departed hours, Too fondly loved to last, The dew, the breath, the bloom of flowers, Snapt in their freshness by the blast : Of long, long years of future care, Till lingering Nature yields her breath, And endless ages of despair, Beyond the judgment-day of death : — The weeping Minstrel sings ; And while her numbers flow, My spirit trembles with...
Сторінка 148 - Of that devoted vessel, tost By winds and floods, now seen, now lost ; While every gun-fire spread A dimmer flash, a fainter roar ; — At length they saw, they heard no more. There are to whom that ship was dear, For love and kindred's sake ; When these the voice of Rumour hear, Their inmost heart shall quake, Shall doubt, and fear, and wish, and grieve, Believe, and long to unbelieve, But never cease to ache ; Still doom'd, in sad suspense, to bear The Hope that keeps alive Despair.
Сторінка 23 - Is he not man, by sin and suffering tried ? Is he not man, for whom the Saviour died ? Belie the Negro's powers : — in headlong will, Christian ! thy brother thou shalt prove him still . Belie his virtues ; since his wrongs began, His follies and his crimes have stampt him Man.
Сторінка 112 - O'er evanescent joys ; Like flowerets glittering with the dews of morn, Fair for a moment, then for ever shorn: — Ah ! soon beneath the inevitable blow, I too shall lie in dust and darkness low. Then Time, the Conqueror, will suspend His scythe, a trophy, o'er my tomb, Whose moving shadow shall portend Each frail beholder's doom. O'er the wide earth's illumined space, Though Time's triumphant flight be shown, The truest index on its face Points from the churchyard stone.