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'Twas in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day, I dream'd what I cannot but sing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay. I dream'd, that, on ocean afloat,
Far hence to the westward I sail'd, While the billows high-lifted the boat,
And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd.
In the steerage
woman I saw, Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impress'd me with awe,
Ne'er taught me by woman before. She sat, and a shield at her side
Shed light, like a sun on the waves, And smiling divinely, she cried
“I go to make freemen of slaves.”_
Then raising her voice to a strain
The sweetest that ear ever heard,
Wherever her glory appear'd.
Fled, chas'd by her melody clear,
'Twas liberty only to hear.
Thus swiftly dividing the flood,
To a slave-cultur'd island we came,
Oppression his terrible name.
A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
From Africa's sorrowful shore.
But soon as approaching the land,
That goddess-like woman he view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand,
With blood of his subjects imbru’d. I saw him both sicken and die,
And the moment the monster expir'd, Heard shouts, that ascended the sky,
From thousands with rapture inspir'd.
Awaking, how could I but muse
At what such a dream should betide ? But soon my ear caught the glad news,
Which serv'd my weak thought for a guideThat Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves
For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves,
Resolves to have none of her own.
THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW.
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM,
Releas'd him, as my story tells,
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Those Christians best deserve the name,
ON A GOLDFINCH
STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.
My drink the morning dew;
My strains for ever new.
And of a transient date;
Soon pass'd the wiry grate.
And cure of ev'ry ill !
Had been your pris'ner still.