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From house to house, from hill to hill,
About his chequer'd sides I wind,
Now, I gain the mountain's brow;
Below me trees unnumber'd rise,
So both a safety from the wind
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
And see the rivers how they run, Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swiftly, sometimes slow, Wave succeeding wave they go, A various journey to the deep, Like human life to endless sleep! Thus in Nature's vesture wrought, To instruct our wand'ring thought; Thus she dresses green and gay, To disperse our cares away. Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the view! The fountain's fall, the river's flow, The woody valleys warm and low; The windy summit, wild and high, Roughly rushing on the sky; The pleasant seat and ruin'd tow'r, The naked rock, the shady bow'r ; The town and village, dome and farm, Each gives each a double charm, As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.
See on the mountain's southern side,
Which to those who journey near,
O may I with myself agree,
Now, even now, my joys run high,
Be full, ye courts, be great who will,
Liberty and Slavery,
DISGUISE thyself as thou wilt, still, Slavery! still thou art a bitter draught; and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. It is thou, Liberty! thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till Nature herself shall change; no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron: with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happie than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Graciou
eaven! grant me but health, thou great Bestower of it, and give e but this fair goddess as my companion; and shower down thy itres, if it seems good unto thy divine providence, upon those ads which are aching for them.
Pursuing these ideas, I sat down close by my table, and leaning y head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself the miseries
of confinement. I was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination.
I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow-creatures born to no inheritance but slavery; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it nearer me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but distract me
I took a single captive, and having first shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take this picture.
I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it was which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood-he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time, nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed throug his lattice. His children
But here my heart began to bleed, and I was forced to go ou with another part of the portrait.
He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his char and bed a little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of misery, to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it down-shook his head, an went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh-I saw the iron enter into his soul-I burst into tears-I could not sustain the picture of confinement, which my fancy had drawn.
The Death of Marmion,
WITH fruitless labour Clara bound,
"In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!"
So the notes rung.
"Avoid thee, fiend! with cruel hand,
Oh! think on faith and bliss!
SIR WALTER SCOTT.