turned to the Earth, but she frowns. on her child; They Cool zephyrs crisp the sea; Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves Its serenade for thee. Ged. Morris. [Written at Scarborough, in the Summer of 1805.] ALL hail to the ruins, the rocks, and the shores! Now brilliant with sunbeams and dimpled with oars, Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale, But now the fair rivers of Paradise wind zone He stretches his hundred-fold arms, Despoiling, destroying its charms; Beneath his broad footstep the Ganges is dry, And the mountains recoil from the flash of his eye. Thus the pestilent Upas, the demon of trees, The birds on the wing, and the flowers in their Are slain by its venomous breath, That darkens the noonday with death, And pale ghosts of travellers wander around, While their mouldering skeletons whiten the ground. Ah! why hath Jehovah, in forming the world, His ramparts of rocks round the continent And cradled the deep in his hand, While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-shadows sail, And leap o'er the bounds of his birth, If man may transgress his eternal command, And the silver-winged sea-fowl on high, Like meteors bespangle the sky, Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride, Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide. From the tumult and smoke of the city set free, From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee, I gaze, And moves on thy waters, wherever they roll, My spirit descends where the dayspring is born, And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn Are sweet as the Phoenix's pyre. O regions of beauty, of love and desire! O gardens of Eden! in vain Placed far on the fathomless main, To ravage the uttermost earth, And violate nations and realms that should be There are, gloomy Ocean, a brotherless clan, From the homes of their kindred, their fore- Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss, Demands of the spoiler his share of the prey. Then joy to the tempest that whelms them beneath, And makes their destruction its sport; But woe to the winds that propitiously breathe, Where the vultures and vampires of Mammon Where Nature with Innocence dwelt in her Where Europe exultingly drains youth, The life-blood from Africa's veins ; When pure was her heart and unbroken her Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod, And spurns at his footstool the image of God! truth. The hour is approaching, a terrible hour! In a moment entombed in the horrible void, Shall this be the fate of the cane-planted isles, More lovely than clouds in the west, From their tombs, from their ashes, it sprung; spoke, The voice of our fathers ascends from their oak: "Ye Britons, who dwell where we conquered of old, Who inherit our battle-field graves; Though poor were your fathers, — gigantic and bold, We were not, we could not be, slaves; When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smiles, But firm as our rocks, and as free as our waves, Sinks softly and sweetly to rest? No! Father of mercy! befriend the opprest; To walk in thy freedom and dwell in thy light! As homeward my weary-winged Fancy extends Ah me! what new prospects, new horrors, arise! All foaming, and panting with blood; For Britannia is wielding the trident to-day, And hurling her thunder with absolute sway She triumphs; the winds and the waters conspire But the cries of the fatherless mix with her praise, And the tears of the widow are shed on her bays. O Britain, dear Britain! the land of my birth; O Isle most enchantingly fair! The spears of the Romans we broke, We never stooped under their yoke. JAMES MONTGOMERY. Thou Pearl of the Ocean! thou Gem of the And bends above our heads the flowering locust |