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Then hie thee to those men of blood,
Whose crimes my innocence attest; Go bid them seek their country's good,
And in that virtue yet be blest.
Say, in the verge of Britain's isle,
A captive on a rocky steep,
Gazing o'er the sullen deep.
Who would not change one lonely hour
Of melancholy rapture there,
Their abject thoughts, their guilty care.
And now I know thee nymph full sure,
For as when watery vapors rise, Which heavn's pure azure did obscure,
And dimm'd the beauties of the skies.
So memory which long had lain,
Envelop'd in obliviou's cloud, Withdraws her misty veil again,
HOPE'S new-born image to unshroud.
It is even now the twentieth year,
Since watching for a favoring gale, This cliff I sought-thou didst appear,
And cheat me with a flattering tale.
Oh! 'twas a vision--fair and bright,
A dream my youthful sense that stole, Thro' fields of glory, paths of light,
And joys that thrill'd upon the soul. Oh! 'twas a vision-wildly sweet,
My brows with bays and myrtle crown'd; Gay flowerets springing at my feet,
And Loves and Graces, dancing round.
Oh! 'twas a sweet bewildering dream,
To see chaste Phæbe's silvery light; Dance to the murmors of the stream,
That winds round Hemus* shadowey height.
But it was false, as thou art fair,
And thou art false, as it was vain; Go, mimic form-light thing of air,
Nor tempt me with thy smiles again.
Trae on this sea-worn point of land,
I often rest, and often here,
And bid him sing of gallant cheer,
And when the swelling canvas flows,
And floats upon the wanton wind ; Bid him, to foreign climes that goes,
To trust in' those he left behind.
And, thankless man, hast thou forgot,
How often in thy loneliest hours ;
And wtap'd thee in elysian bowers?
When the rude wave, and wint’ry blast
Of mortal dangers made their sport, Have I not sat upon the mast,
To waft thee to a friendly port?
When deep, sequester'd and forlorn,
And buried in the dungeon's gloomHave I not taught thy soul to scorn
Th’ assassin's steel-the tyrant's doom?
* A Mountain of Thrace, sacred to Appollo and the Muses. And when with sickness, worn and wan,
Death's ugly terrors thou could'st brave, 'Twas I, when earthly joys were gone,
That shew'd thee life beyond the grave.
Spirit of comfort ! now I
The willing vassal of thy power!
Which dearer is than life to me,
Be ever happy-ever free?
Those words I spake' with downcast eyes,
Fearing to hear what she might say,
and to the skies-The fairy phantom wing'd her way.
Thus may you see how pliable and versatile is the human mind. How many sources of consolation the Creator has bestowed, were men but wise enough to seek them. And I can assure you, with truth, that often, during my long exile, retiring within myself, in the gloom of solitude, or in the silence of the night, I have passed some of the most delicious moments of my existence : so strong a shield against misfortune is an unsullied conscience. As at this time there was nothing in the personal treatment I received that had anv tendency to sour me: so I encouraged every agreeable idea that presented itself, I had several instruments of music, and I had a port-folio, with some implements for drawing; and in Falmouth I made a portrait of my guardian in Crayon, with his greyhound (the badge of his office) which at the same time served as an occupation for me, and a compliment in return for his civilities. He had it framed on his return, and hung up in his parlour.
It has been said by the first of poets" Seldom has the steeld gaoler been the friend of man.” But here was one, however strict in the execution of his office, who had a tender heart. He once, with tears in his eyes, begged of me to accept from him a hundred pounds, which he laid down before me; and in order to refuse, without wounding him, I was obliged to assure him that I was nearly as rich as himself; and reminded him, that in the mean time that the government was good enough to treat us both, and applied the words of the poet :
“ He that doth the ravens feed, Doth cater for the sparrow and the dove."
My wife continued to lodge with Mrs. Sparrow until her leaving London, long after I had sailed; so much reason had she to be contented with her enter- tainment
On the 12th of May, I was conducted on board the Windsor Castle packet, and set sail with a fair wind for the City of New York.
The society of a fellow-passenger, Captain Davy, of the 29th regiment, and the politeness of Captain Sutton, of which I cannot say too much, rendered
the former part of the voyage agreeable, but during the latter part the weather was bad, and my health began again to decline. During the few days we stayed at Halifax, I was forbidden to go on shore, which mortified my curiosity more than my pridet; and I suppose was intended as a mortification : for the most narrow suspicion or contemptible jealousy could scarcely imagine any mischief I could do, were I ever so inclined.
On the 4th of July, a day ever memorable in the annals of America, I arrived in the waters of the Hudson, but I did not reach the City until most of its inhabitants had retired to rest. And now that my travels are at an end ; that I am at length arrived in a land of peace and liberty, let us for a while repose.
I shall shortly take up my pen again, to give such answer as I can to that serious question, “ the true causes of the wretchedness and troubles in Ireland ;” but not without the disquieting apprehension, that those troubles and that wretchedness may be revived, even whilst my pen runs on.
The view I shall take of this mournful subject shall be rapid, for the time I have to bestow upon it is short. I shall attempt nothing but the outlines and principal results. If they should awake your soul to sympathy, and stimulate your curiosity to further enquiry, they will have answered a good end. If they can reclaim you or any good man from delusion, on a subject at this juncture infinitely important, and eminently connected with the welfare of the human race, I shall not have written in vain. If I should once prevail so far, I shall