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At last a slave bethought her of a harp;
The harper came, and tuned his instrument; At first the notes irregular and sharp
On him her flashing eyes a moment bent; Then to the wall she turned, as if to warp,
Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent,
And he begun a long low island song,
Of ancient days-ere tyranny grew strong.
Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of love the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flashed the dream
Of what she was, and is, if ye could call
To be so being; in a gushing stream
Short solace, vain relief!-thought came too quick,
Yet she betrayed at times a gleam of sense;
Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Though on all other things with looks intense
She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
Availed for either; neither change of place, Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her Senses to sleep-the power seemed gone for ever.
Twelve days and nights she withered thus: at last,
And they who watched her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast
Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes-the beautiful, the blackOh! to possess such lustre-and then lack!
TO A TUFT OF EARLY VIOLETS.
Sweet flowers! that, from your humble beds
Retire, retire! These tepid airs
Are not the genial brood of May; That sun with light malignant glares, And flatters only to betray.
Stern winter's reign is not yet past-
And nips your root, and lays you low.
Alas for such ungentle doom!
But I will shield you; and supply A kindlier soil on which to bloom, A nobler bed on which to die.
Come then- -ere yet the morning ray
Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, And drawn balmiest sweets away your !
O come, and grace my Anna's breast.
Ye droop, fond flowers! But, did ye know,
For there has liberal nature joined
Come then-ere yet the morning ray
Has drunk the dew that gems your crest,
O! I should think,-that fragrant bed
By one short hour of transport there.
More blest than me, thus shall ye live
While I, alas! no distant date,
Mix with the dust from whence I came,
Without a friend to weep my fate,
Without a stone to tell my name.
COMFORT UNDER AFFLICTION
When gathering clouds around I view,
If aught should tempt my soul to stray
If wounded love my bosom swell,