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The form still mark'd with many a stain,- And now, as nearer speeds their march, Brand of the soil, the sconrge, the chain; Espands the rainbow's mighty arch; The serf of Afric's fiery ground;
Though there has burst no thunder-cloud, The slave by Indian suns embrown'd; No flash of death the soil bas plough'd, The weary drudges of the var,
And still ascends before their gaze, By the swart Arab's poison’d shore, Arch upon arch, the lovely blaze; The gathering of earth's wildest tract, Still as the gorgeous cloads unfold, On bursts the living cataract!
Rise towers and domes immortal moold. What strength of man can check its speed ? Scenes! that the Patriarch’s vision's eye They come,--the Nation of the Freed; Beheld, and then rejoic'd to die ;Who leads their march? Beneath His wheel That like the altar's burning coal, Back rolls the sea, the monntains reel! Touch'd the pale Prophet's harp with soul;Before their tread His trump is blown, That the thron'd Seraphs long to see, Who speaks in thunder and 'tis done! Now given thon slave of slaves to thee! King of the dead! 0, not in vain, Whose city this? What potentate Was thy long pilgrimage of pain;
Sits there the King of Time and Fate! 0, not in vain arose thy prayer,
Whom glory covers like a robe, When press'd the thorn thy temples bare ; Whose sceptre shakes the solid globe, 0, not in vain the voice that cried,
Whom shapes of fire, and splendor guard ! To spare thy madden'd homicide!
There sits the Man whose face was marr'd, Even for this hour thy heart's blood stream'd, To whom Archangels bow the knee, They come! the Host of the Redeem'd!- The Weeper of Gethsemane !
Down in the dust, aye, Israel, kneel; What flames upon the distant sky?
For now thy wither'd heart can feel ! "Tis not the comet's sanguine dye,
Aye, let thy wan cheek burn like fiame, 'Tis not the lightning's quivering spire, There sits thy glory, and thy shame! Tis not the sun's ascending fire.
SENTIMENTAL AND PATHETIC.
THE PLEASURES OF SENSIBILITY. Where the best passions of the mortal breast?
Where the warm blessing when another's
blest? FOR tho' in souls where taste and sense Where the soft lenitives of others' pain, abound,
The social sympathy, the sense humane? Pain thro' a thousand avenues can wound, The sigh of rapture, and the tear of joy, Yet the same avenues are open still, Anguish that charms, and transports that To casual blessings as to casual ill.
destroy? Nor is the trembling temper more awake, For tender Sorrow has her pleasures too; To ev'ry wound which Misery can make, Pleasures which prosp'rous Dulness never Than is the finely fashion'd nerve alive
knew. To ev'ry transport Pleasure has tu give, She never knew, in all her coarser bliss, For tho' when home-felt joys the mind elate, The sacred rapture of a pain like this ! It mourns in secret for another's fate; Nor think the cautious only are the just; Yet when its own sad griefs invade the Who never was deceiv'd I would not trust. breast,
Then take, ye happy vulgar! take your part Abroad, in others blessings, see it blest! Of sordid joy, which never touch'd the heart, E'en the soft sorrow of remember'd wo Benevolence, which seldom stays to choose, A not unpleasing sadness may bestow. Lest pausing Prudence teach her to refuse ;
Friendship which, once determin'd, never Let not the vulgar read this pensive strain ; swerves, Their jests the tender anguish would profane: Weighs ere it trusts, but weighs not ere it Yet these some deem the bappiest of their serves; kind,
And soft-eyed Pity and Forgiveness bland, Whose low enjoyments never reach'd the And melting Charity with open hand;
And artless Love, believing and believ'd. Who ne'er a pain but for themselves have And gen'rous Confidence which ne'er deknown,
ceiv'd; Nor ever felt a sorrow but their own ; And Mercy stretching out ere Want ca Who call romantic every finer thought
speak, Conceiv'd by pity, or by friendship wrought, To wipe the tear from pale Affiiction's cheek Ah! wherefore happy? where's the kindred These ye have never known !-then take mind?
your part Where the large soul that takes in human Of sordid joy, which never touch'd the kind?
That very law which moulds a tear, And bids it trickle from its source, That law preserves the earth a sphere, And guides the planets in their course.
And to the air its tender fragrance threw ; When the north wind enamour'd of thee
grew; And by his cold, rude kiss thy charms
decay : Now droops thy head, now fades thy blushing
hue, No more the queen of flowers, no longer
gay: So blooms a maid, her guardians-health
and joyHer mind array'd in innocency's vest When suddenly, impatient to destroy, Death clasps the virgin to his iron breast. She fades--the parent, sister, friend, deplore The charins and budding virtaes' now bo
The rose bad been wasbed, just washed in a
shower, Which Mary to Anna conveyed; The plentiful moisture encumbered the
flower, And weighed down its beautiful head.