"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 a 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, She sung of the slave's broken chain, Wherever her glory appear❜d.

Some clouds which had over us hung, Fled, chas'd by her melody clear, And methought while she liberty sung, "Twas liberty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,
To a slave-cultur'd island we came
Where a demon, her enemy, stood-
Oppression his terrible name.

In his hand, as the sign of his sway,
A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
And stood looking out for his prey

From Africa's sorrowful shore.

But soon as approaching the land, That goddesslike 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.



A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangu'd him thus, right eloquent—
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the selfsame pow'r divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;

That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Releas'd him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real int'rest to discern;

That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,

Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting in each other's case

The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name, Who studiously make peace their aim; Peace both the duty and the prize

Of him that creeps and him that flies.

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