Dear to my fight that form, and doubly dear
Thy well-known accents meet Zamboia's ear.
Oh! had I dy'd, and left the name of slave
Deep, deep entomb'd within an early grave!
Oh! had I dy'd, ere ruthlefs fates conftrain,
With thee enthrall'd, to cross the western main !
Oh! to have met a glorious death in arms,
And ne'er beheld Melinda's fatal charms!
Time would be fhort, and memory would fail,
To dwell diftinctly on the various tale.
Tedious to tell what treach'rous arts were try'd,
To foothe the fmart of ftill revolting pride.
I liv'd and lov'd-then kifs'd the fatal chain;
No joy but one to cheer a life of pain.
Yet witnefs bear, thou dear departed ghoft!
That lonely rov'ft thy Gambia's facred coaft,
How fweet the toil that met the morning ray,
How light the labour that oe'rlafled day.
The reed-built hovel, and the fcanty fare,
Imperial blifs could give, Melinda there.
Soft was my pillow on thy gentle breast,
When o'er-preft nature droop'd, in want of reft;
And if a rebel tear difgrac'd my eye,

Thine was the tear, and thine the burfling figh!
Blifs I could boaft, unenvy'd had it pafs'd,
But blifs too great, for hapless flaves, to last.

A wretch, who banifh'd from his native clime,
Defil'd with many a black and monstrous crime,
Prefided o'er us, and, with iron hand,
Held favage fway o'er all the fervile band.
In him each hellish paffion rudely glow'd,
And cruelty in him moft cruel fhow'd.
Him luft infernal, one fad ev'ning, led
T' invade the chaftenefs of my marriage-bed:
I chanc'd t' approach-the caitiff I furpris'd
My wife preferv'd, and had his guilt chaffis'd;
While full with vengeance boil'd my wounded heart:
But chance referv'd him for a bafer part.

Meanwhile, o'erjoy'd that vice e'en then had fail'd,
I blefs'd the Gods that innocence prevail'd.
The baffled villain, now a foe profefs'd,
Rolls fcenes of blood within his rankling breast;

With coward arts he forg'd a crafty tale,
And hands unrighteous pois'd the partial scale.
Imputed crimes to cruíh the weak fuffice,
Hearfay is guilt, and damning facts furmife;
Where uncurb'd will ufurps the place of laws,
No friendly pleader takes the wretch's cause:
Our tyrants' fears each want of proof supply'd,
We fland condemn'd, unqueftion'd, and untry'd!
Oh! had the grief and fhame been all my own,
And the black vengeance lit on me alone!
But harfher fates a harder curfe decreed;
Thefe eyes were doom'd te fee Melinda bleed.
I faw her by relentless ruffians bound,

The brandifh'd scourge inflict the mortal wound;
Her tender frame abus'd, and mangled o'er,
I faw her welt'ring in a flood of gore.

The murd'rous fcene had foon a dreadful clofe-
And do I live? and can I speak my woes?
Her pregnant womb no longer could sustain
The public fhame, and agony of pain;
A birth abortive robb'd her of her breath,
And pangs convulfive feal'd her eyes in death.
One only pledge my weary foul detains,
This hapless infant, all that now remains;
The mournful image of my once lov'd wife,
And ties me down awhile to hated life:
Elfe this bold hand fhould liberty restore,
And my rapt spirit feek a happier fhore.
Through devious paths with timid hafte we fly,
Where yon blue mountains meet the bending sky;
Nor ferpents' haunts I dread, nor defarts drear,
The mafter-favage, Man, alone I fear.

MOMBAZE.

Since from our native realms compell'd to part, Such pointed forrows have not touch'd my heart. Infatiate plund'rers! could it not fuffice To rend, inhuman, all the focial ties? From guiltless joys, that blefs'd our native foil, Dragg'd to a life of mifery and toil,

Would you yet take the little God has giv'n, And intercept the gracious dews of heav'n? Your rage for blood, wild as your thirit of gain, Shall no refpects, nor truths divine, restrain?

Is

Th'eternal fabric can a name undo?
rape, and murder, fanctify'd in you?
And us, what laws, as impious as fevere,
Forbid the common rights of man to fhare?
Didft thou, creative Pow'r! thy views confine?
For one proud race the spacious earth defign?
For them alone does plenty deck the vale,
Blush in the fruit, and tinge the fcented gale?
For them the seasons all their fweets unfold,
Blooms the fresh rofe, and fhines the waving gold?
Oh, no! all-bounteous is thy equal hand,
And thy fix'd laws irrevocable ftand.
Haplefs Zamboia! had it been thy fate
With me to fhare my more propitious state,
Thy foul had breath'd no impious wish to die,
Nor the big tear had trembled in thine eye.
Disjoin'd from thee, I too to flav'ry went;
But Heav'n a father, not a master, lent.
He seems as Virtue's felf in mortal guife;
Though wealthy, fimple; and though modeft, wife.
Bleft be the hand that life and freedom gave!
That pow'r can boast, exerted but to fave!
Bleft the fage tongue that ftor'd the vacant mind,
The manners foften'd, and the heart refin'd!
That, fill to Heav'n's unerring dictates true,
Eternal truth unfolded to our view!

But, come, thy faint and weary limbs repose,
Forgetful of thy fears, thy griefs compofe;
By morning's dawn, with earnest foot," I speed,
Nor fleep these eyes till I behold thee freed.
Some wealth I have, and, did I prize it more,
Well fpar'd for this I deem the facred ftore.

So talk'd these friends, and to the cottage hafte ;
While fad Zamboia his pursuers trac❜d.
The ruffian band arreft the hapless fwain,
And pray'rs, and tears, and promifes are vain :
Their vengeful fervour, no-not gifts abate;
But, bound in chains, they drag him to his fate*.

* A higher reward is generally offered for the head of a fugitive
Negro, than for bringing him alive.

WIFT roll the Rhine's billows, and water the plains,

Where Falken Rein's Cables majetic remains

Their mofs-cover'd turrets ftill rear:

Oft loves the gaunt wolf 'midst the ruins to prowl,
What time, from the battlements, pours the lone owl
Her plaints in the passenger's ear.

No longer refound, through the vaults of yon hall,
The fong of the minftrel and mirth of the ball;
Thofe pleasures for ever are fled:

There now dwells the bat, with her light-fhunning brood;
There ravens and vultures now clamour for food,

And all is dark, filent, and dread!

Ha! doft thou not fee, by the moon's trembling light
Directing his fleps, where advances a knight,
His eye big with vengeance and fate?
'Tis Offic-the Lion, his nephew who leads,
And fwift up the crackling old flair-cafe proceeds,
Gains the hall, and quick closes the gate.

Now round him young Carloman cafting his eyes,
Surveys the fad fcene with difmay and surprise,
And fear fteals the rofe from his cheeks

His fpirits forfake him, his courage is flown;
The hand of Sir Ofrie he clafps in his own,
And, while his voice faulters, thus fpeaks

"Dear uncle," he murmurs, " why linger we here?
'Tis late, and thefe chambers are damp, and are drear,
Keen blows, through the ruins, the blast!
Oh! let us away, and our journey pursue;
Fair Blumenberg's Caftle will rife on our view,
Soon as Falkenstein Forest is pass'd.

Why roll thus your eye-balls? why glare they fo wild?
O chide not my weakness, nor frown, that a child
Should view thefe apartments with dread;
For know that, full oft, I have heard from my nurse,
There ftill on this caftle has refted a curse,

Since innocent blood was here fhed!

She faid, too, bad fpirits and ghofts, all in white,
Here ufe to refort at the dead time of night,
Nor vanifh till breaking of day;

And ftill at their coming is heard the deep tone
Of a bell-loud and awful-Hark! hark! 'twas a groan!
Good uncle, oh! let us away!"

"Peace, ferpent!" thus Ofric-the Lion, replies,
While rage and malignity gloom in his eyes;
"Thy journey and life here must close :
Thy caftle's proud turrets no more fhalt thou fee;
No more betwixt Blumenberg's lordship and me
Shalt thou ftand, and my greatness oppofe.

My brother lies breathlefs on Palestine's plains,
And thou once remov'd, to his noble domains
No rival my right can deny:

Then, ftripling, prepare on my dagger to bleed!
No fuccour is near, and thy fate is decreed;
Commend thee to Jefus, and die !"

Thus faying, he feizes the boy by the arm,
Whofe grief rends the vaulted hall's roof, while alarm
His heart of all fortitude robs;

His limbs fink beneath him; diftracted with fears,
He falls at his uncle's feet, bathes them with tears,
And-" Spare me! oh! fpare me !" he fobs.

But, ah! 'tis in vain that he ftrives to appeafe
The mifcreant; in vain does he cling round his knees,
And fue, in foft accents, for life: