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Melting in melody;-and I descried,
Pour'd his lone song, to which the surge replied:
WHAT art thou, MIGHTY ONE! and where thy seat?
The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet.
Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan
Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood? Vain thought! the confines of his throne to trace,
Who glows through all the fields of boundless space.
BE hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds,
That wring with grief my aching breast.
Oh, cruel was my faithless love,
To leave the breast by him betray'd.
When exil'd from my native home,
A heart-sick weary wand'rer here.
My child moans sadly in my arms,
Ah, little knows the hapless babe
What makes its wretched mother weep!
Now lie thee still, my infant dear,
I cannot bear thy sobs to see, Harsh is thy father, little one, And never will he shelter thee. 10
Oh, that I were but in my grave,
And thou, my poor, my orphan babe,
Were nestling in thy mother's shroud!
OF A FEMALE CONVICT TO HER CHILD, THE NIGHT PREVIOUS TO EXECUTION.
SLEEP, Baby mine,* enkerchieft on my bosom,
Baby, why dost thou keep this sad complaining,
Poor wayward wretch! and who will heed thy weeping,
* Sir Philip Sidney has a poem beginning," Sleep, Baby mine."
Sleep, Baby mine-To-morrow I must leave thee, And I would snatch an interval of rest;
Sleep these last moments, ere the laws bereave thee,
For never more thou'lt press a mother's breast.