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If foreigners likewise would give up the trade,
Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind
A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
He was shock'd, Sir, like you, and answer'd
" Oh no! What! rob our good neighbour! I pray you, don't
go ; Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread, Then think of his children, for they must be fed.”
“ You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
They spoke, and Tom ponder'd "I see they will go';
“ If the matter depended alone upon me,
THE MORNING DREAM.
'TWAS in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day, I dream'd what I cannot but sing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.
I dream'd that on ocean afloat,
While the billows high-lifted the boat,
And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd.
In the steerage a woman I saw,
Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impress'd me with awe,
She sat, and a shield at her side
Shed light like a sun on the waves, And smiling divinely, she cry'd
Then raising her voice to a strain
The sweetest that ear ever heard, She sung of the slave's broken chain
Wherever her glory appear'd.
Some clouds, which had over us hung,
Fled, chas'd by her melody clear, And methought while she Liberty sung,
'Twas Liberty only to hear. Thus swiftly dividing the flood · To a slave-cultur'd island we came, Where a Demon, her enemy, stood
Oppression his terrible name.
In his hand, as the sign of his sway,
A scourge hung with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey
From Africa's sorrowful shore.
But soon as approaching the land
That goddess-like woman he view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand,
With blood of his subjects imbru’d.
I saw him both sicken and die,
And the moment the monster expir'd, Heard shouts that ascended the sky
From thousands with rapture inspir’d.
Awaking, how could I but muse
At what such a dream should betide ? VOL. 11. . 3d u
But soon my ear caught the glad news,
Which serv'd my weak thought for a guide That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves
For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves,
Resolves to have none of her own.
THE YEARLY DISTRESS ;
Verses addressed to a Country Clergyman, complaining the disagreeableness of the Day annually appointed for re
ceiving the Dues at the Parsonage.
COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest,
To laugh it would be wrong,
The burden of my song.
Three quarters of the year,
When tithing time draws near.
As one at point to die,
He heaves up many a sigh.
For then the farmers come jog, jog,
Along the miry road,
To make their payments good.
Is not to be express’d,
Are both alike distress'd.
Now all, unwelcome, at his gates
The clumsy swains alight,
He trembles at the sight.
Each bumpkin of the clan,
Will cheat him if he can.
So in they come-each makes his leg,
And flings his head before, And looks as if he came to beg,
And not to quit a score.
• And how does miss and madam do,
• The little boy and all ?' * All tight and well. And how do you,
Good Mr. What-d'ye-call?"
The dinner comes, and down they sit,
Were e'er such hungry folk ?