The African.

WIDE Over the tremulous sea

The moon spread her mantle of light;
And the gale, gently dying away,
Breathed soft on the bosom of night.

On the forecastle Maraton stood,
And poured forth his sorrowful tale;
His tears fell unseen in the flood,

His sighs passed unheard on the gale.

Ah, wretch! in wild anguish he cried,
From country and liberty torn,—
Ah, Maraton! would thou hadst died

Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne !

Through the groves of Angola I strayed,

Love and hope made my bosom their home;
There I talked with my favourite maid,

Nor dreamt of the sorrow to come.

* Published anonymously in 1788. It is the joint production of Mr. Roscoe and Dr. Currie.

From the thicket the man-hunter sprung,
My cries echoed loud through the air;
There was fury and wrath on his tongue,
He was deaf to the shrieks of despair!

Accursed be the merciless band,

That his love could from Maraton tear; And blasted this impotent hand,

That was severed from all I held dear.

Flow,

ye tears-down my cheeks ever flowStill let sleep from my eyelids depart; And still may the arrow of woe

Drink deep of the stream of my heart.

But, hark! on the silence of night
My Adila's accents I hear;
And, mournful beneath the wan light,
I see her loved image appear.

Slow o'er the smooth ocean she glides,

As the mist that hangs light on the wave;

And fondly her lover she chides,

That lingers so long from his grave!

"O! Maraton, haste thee," she cries;

"Here the reign of oppression is o'er;

The tyrant is robbed of his prize,
And Adila sorrows no more."

Now sinking amidst the dim ray,
Her form seems to fade on my view;
O stay thee, my Adila, stay!—

She beckons, and I must pursue.

To-morrow, the white man in vain

Shall proudly account me his slave;
My shackles I plunge in the main,

And rush to the realms of the brave.

Secular Song,

ON THE REVOLUTION OF 1688.*

SINCE Freedom here fixed her immutable throne,
A hundred long years winged with blessings are past;
Our fathers the sweets of her favour have known,
But 't is our's to complete the full circle at last :
Then grasp the deep bowl, the full chorus prolong,
To William and Freedom be sacred the song!

When James, the worst heir of a tyrannous line,
Had trampled on reason, religion, and laws,

* Recited by Mr. Roscoe in 1788, on the celebration of the centenary of the Revolution of 1688.

Like an angel commissioned by goodness divine, Then William arose and asserted our cause: Then grasp the deep bowl, the full chorus prolong, To William and Freedom be sacred the song!

Could the sons of Britannia, supine and unjust, Be dead to the transports the season inspires, The spirits of those who now moulder in dust

Would speak from their ashes, to kindle our fires: Then grasp the deep bowl, the full chorus prolong, To William and Freedom be sacred the song!

To Nature the boon of existence we owe, But 't is Liberty crowns it with honour and joy; The worth of her smile by experience we know,

To enjoy it we live, to preserve it we 'll die : Then grasp the deep bowl, the full chorus prolong, To William and Freedom be sacred the song!

Round this altar of Freedom united we bow, Our libations shall aid her unquenchable flame, Which here, to transmit to our children, we vow,

Bright and vivid as when from our fathers it came: Then grasp the deep bowl, the full chorus prolong, To William and Freedom be sacred the song!

Song.*

UNFOLD, Father Time! thy long records unfold,
Of noble achievements accomplished of old,
When men, by the standard of Liberty led,
Undauntedly conquered or cheerfully bled;

But know, 'midst the triumph these moments reveal,
Their glories shall fade, and their lustre turn pale;
While France rises up, and confirms the decree
That tears off her chains, and bids millions be free.

As Spring to the fields, or as dew to the flower,
To the earth parched with heat as the soft dropping shower;
As health to the wretch that lies languid and wan;
Or as rest to the weary-is Freedom to man.
Where Freedom the light of her countenance gives,
There only he revels, there only he lives;
Seize, then, the glad moment, and hail the decree
That bids millions rejoice, and a nation be free!

Too long had Oppression and Terror entwined
Those fancy-formed chains that enslave the free mind,

* On the Celebration of the taking of the Bastile. Produced by Mr. Roscoe at a Meeting held on the 14th July, 1790.