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Watch by thy couch and nurse thee? Day by day
Than earthly learning, show'd thee of the way
“ Yes, thou hast done all this,
Laid up for thee a full reward of bliss,
“ Yet how can I but weep Whene'er I think upon the mother's eye, That smiled to meet my glance in days gone by,
And watch'd in tenderness above my sleep, Now grown all dim with hopeless grief for me, Who never more may home or parent see.
66'T was on a bright sunny morn, When with glad heart I sprang across the hills, With my young sister, and beside the rills,
Whose shining waves and clustering flowers were borne, While at the cabin door my mother stood, And watch'd our footsteps to the distant wood.
6. She never saw us more-
With stealthy pace, like tigers, to our door.
" Ah, lady, now thine eyes
The memories of scenes as this arise,
“ Three days they drove us on, A weary, wretched, and despairing band, Until with swollen limbs we reach'd the strand,
Where 'neath the setting sun the sea-waves shone ; Then gasping in the slave-ship's hold we lay, And wish'd each groan might bear our lives away.
“Ah, thou canst never know
Who mock'd at all our anguish and our woe;
“ Yet still, though not a slave, I am a stranger in a stranger's land, Far sever'd from my own dear kindred band,
By many a wide-stretch'd plain and rolling wave; And, although even with thee my lot is cast, I cannot lose the memory of the past.
« Then wonder not I
weep; For never can my lost home be forgot ; Nor all the loved ones who have made that spot
The heaven to which e'en yet, amid my sleep, My hopes are sometimes turn'd—though thou hast taught My waking hours a holier, better thought.”
AN APPEAL FOR THE OPPRESSED.
Dwellers by their mouldering graves,
Look upon your country's slaves !
These are woman's fetter'd hands,
Lift sad glance, and iron bands.
Mute, yet strong appeal of woe!
Wakes it not your starting tears ? Though your hearts may never know,
Half the bitter doom of hers.
Scars are on her fetter'd limbs,
Where the savage scourge hath been ; But the grief, her eye that dims,
Flows for deeper wounds within.
For the children of her love,
For the brothers of her race, Sisters, like vine branches wove,
In one early dwelling place.
For the parent forms, that hung
Fondly o'er her infant sleep, And for him, to whom she clung
With affection true and deep
By her sad forsaken hearth,
'T is for these she wildly grieves ! Now all scatter'd o'er the earth,
Like the wind-strewn autumn leaves !
E'en her babes, so dear, so young,
And so treasured in her heart, That the chords which round them clung
Seem'd its life, its dearest part
These, ev'n these, were torn away!
These, that when all else were gone, Cheer'd her heart with one bright ray,
That still bade its pulse beat on.
Then, to still her frantic woe,
The inhuman scourge was tried, Till the tears that ceased to flow,
Were with redder drops supplied !
And can you behold unmoved,
All the crushing weight of grief,
Seeking not to yield relief!
Are not woman's pulses warm,
Beating in this anguish'd breast ?
On whose limbs these fetters rest?
Oh then, save her from a doom,
Worse than all that ye may bear;
'Midst her bondage and despair.
THE SYLVAN GRAVE.
Lay me not, when I die, in the place of the dead,
Earth! thou art lovely, when the sinking sun
cry, Unbroken silence hangs o’er earth, and wave, and sky.
But now the majesty of midnight storm
As though the winds ne'er curld them in its pride, Or shook the still bent leaves that hang above the tide.
How steadily that ebon mass moves on!
In all their wonted brightness ; and the light
The tempest hurries onward-how the flash
The soul is its own world, and the deep glow