And knew not compassion, but laugh'd at their pray'r, When they called on their God, or wept loud in despair; Till again rose the morn, and all hush'd was the wail, And on cheeks stark and cold the grim darkness was pale. Then the white heartless demons, with curse and with frown, Gave the dead to the deep, till the darkness came down : But the angel who blasteth, unheard and unseen, Bade the tyrants lie low where their victims had been: And down dropp'd the waves, and stone-still hung the sail, And black sank the dead, while more pale grew the pale. Stern angel, how calmly his chosen he slew! And soon the survivors were fearfully few; For, wall'd o'er their heads the red firmament stood, FAMINE IN A SLAVE SHIP. 13 What hand sweeps the stars from the cheek of the night? Who lifts up the sea in the wrath of his might? Why, down from his glance, shrinks in horror the shark? Why stumbles o'er mountains the blind foodless barque ? Lo, his lightning speaks out, from the growl of the gale! And shrieking she sinks-while the darkness turns pale! THE DYING BOY TO THE SLOE BLOSSOM. BEFORE thy leaves thou com'st once more, White blossom of the sloe! Thy leaves will come as heretofore; But this poor heart, its troubles o'er, A month at least before thy time No more to be. Why here in winter? No storm lowers O'er Nature's silent shroud! But blithe larks meet the sunny showers, Sweet violets, in the budding grove, And where the rose-leaf, ever bold, Hears bees chant hymns to God, The breeze-bow'd palm, moss'd o'er with gold, Smiles on the well in summer cold, And daisied sod. But thou, pale blossom, thou art come, To tell me that the worm makes room For as the rainbow of the dawn A sunbeam on the sadden'd lawn In early years. THE DYING BOY TO THE SLOE BLOSSOM. 15 Thy leaves will come! but songful spring Will see no leaf of mine; Her bells will ring, her bride's-maids sing, O might I breathe morn's dewy breath, I go Even as the blushes of the morn The dew-drop dieth on the thorn, To love my mother and to die To perish in my bloom! Is this my sad brief history? A tear dropp'd from a mother's eye Into the tomb. He lived and loved-will sorrow say—— By early sorrow tried; He smiled, he sigh'd, he past away; His life was but an April day He loved and died! My mother smiles, then turns away, But turns away to weep: They whisper round me-what they say I need not hear, for in the clay I soon must sleep. Oh, love is sorrow! sad it is To be both tried and true; I ever trembled in my bliss; Now there are farewells in a kiss They sigh adieu. But woodbines flaunt when blue bells fade, And many a youth in Shire-cliff's shade Though William dies. Then panting woods the breeze will feel, And bowers, as heretofore, Beneath their load of roses reel; But I through woodbined lanes shall steal No more, no more. Well, lay me by my brother's side, His last and slept. |