Thou savage in an angel's form, No more will I such homage render; For what avails each outward charm, Without a heart that's kind and tender! I'll throw my idle crook away, My pipe and sylvan haunts forsaking, Beneath a friar's garb to hide The weakness of a heart that's breaking. Then in my gown, of sober gray, Along that winding path I'll wander, And wend my melancholy way, To the sad shrine that waits me yonder. There, in the calm monastic shade, All injuries must be forgiven; And there, for thee, obdurate Maid, No more I'll wear this cypress wreath, No more petition, or reprove thee;Silent I go to meet my death, Or learn the art no more to love thee. LXIV. THE NEGRO'S FUNERAL. -EDWARDS. MAHALI dies! O'er yonder plain His bier is borne; the sable train Daughters of injured Afric, say, No tear bedews their fixed eye, And long-lost bowers again. On Coromantyn's palmy soil, Heroic deeds, and martial toil, Shall fill each glorious day : Love, fond and faithful, crown thy nights, And bliss unbought, unmix'd delights, Past cruel wrongs repay. Nor lordly Pride's stern avarice there, To all her children free : For thee, the dulcet reed shall spring, The Anana bloom for thee. The thunder hark!-'Tis Afric's God, And vengeance yet is ours. Now, Christian, now in wild dismay, Go roam the affrighted wood; Thy race shall prowl with savage yell, But soft!-Beneath yon Tamarind shade, Now let the hero's limbs be laid; Sweet slumbers bless the brave; There shall the breezes shed perfume, Nor livid lightnings blast the bloom That decks Mahali's grave. |