I dreamed that, on ocean afloat,

Far hence to the westward I sailed,
While the billows high-lifted the boat,

And the fresh-blowing breeze never failed.

In the steerage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore,
Whose beauty impressed me with awe,

Ne'er taught me by woman before.
She sat, and a shield at her side

Shed light, like a sun on the waves,
And smiling divinely, she cried-

'I go to make Freemen of Slaves.'

Then raising her voice to a strain

The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sung of the slave's broken chain,
Wherever her glory appeared.
Some clouds which had over us hung,
Fled, chased by her melody clear,
And methought while she Liberty sung,
'Twas Liberty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a slave-cultured 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 viewed;
The scourge he let fall from his hand,
With blood of his subjects imbrued.

I saw him both sicken and die,

And the moment the monster expired,
Heard shouts that ascended the sky,

VOL. II.

From thousands with rapture inspired.

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Awaking, how could I but muse

At what such a dream should betide? But soon my ear caught the glad news, Which served my weak thought for a guide;— That Britannia, renowned 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.

45

ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER-
HANGINGS.

THE Birds put off their every hue,
To dress a room for Montagu;
The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes,
His rainbows and his starry eyes;
The Pheasant plumes which round infold
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The Cock his arched tail's azure show;
And, river-blanched, the Swan his snow;
All tribes beside of Indian name,
That glossy shine, or vivid flame,
Where rises and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage, neither dashing shower,
Nor blasts that shake the dripping bower,
Shall drench again or discompose,

But screened from every storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.
To the same Patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,

Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing armed from Jove-
Imagination scattering round
Wild roses over furrowed ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile-
Wit flashing on Religion's side,

Whose fires, to sacred Truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice more,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright—

Well tutored Learning, from his books

Dismissed with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact,
Nor more harmonious or compact,

Than that to which he keeps confined
The various treasures of his mind-
All these to Montagu's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.

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There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.

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She thus maintains divided sway'
With yon bright regent of the day;
The Plume and Poet both we know
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phoebus aiding,
Both Poet saves and Plume from fading.

55

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.

NO FABLE.

THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,

When, 'scaped from literary cares,

I wandered on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree,

(Two nymphs adorned with every grace,
That spaniel found for me)

Now wantoned lost in flags and reeds,

Now starting into sight,

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads

With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse displayed

His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent surveyed,

And one I wished my own.

With cane extended far, I sought

To steer it close to land;

But still the prize, though nearly caught,

Escaped my eager hand.

Beau marked my unsuccessful pains

With fixed considerate face,

And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.

But with a cherup clear and strong
Dispersing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and followed long
The windings of the stream.

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My ramble ended, I returned,

Beau trotting far before,

The floating wreath again discerned,
And plunging left the shore.

I saw him, with that lily cropped,

Impatient swim to meet

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My quick approach, and soon he dropped
The treasure at my feet.

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Charmed with the sight, 'The world,' I cried,

'Shall hear of this thy deed:

My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed:

'But chief, myself I will enjoin,

Awake at Duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine

To Him who gives me all.'

40

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. THROCK-
MORTON'S BULLFINCH.

YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
Oh! share Maria's grief:

Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassined by a thief!

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung:
And though by nature mute,

Or only with a whistle blessed,

Well taught, he all the sounds expressed
Of flageolet or flute.

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