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HENRY FRANK LOTT.
"If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven,
WILLOUGHBY AND CO., WARWICK LANE,
TO MY MOTHER.
To thee, who, fonder than all else beside,
These trifling flowers of song I dedicate,
In filial duty, and in manly pride:
Of public favour, granted or denied,
I've neither hope nor fear-for still elate
My heart will be, that it can consecrate
Our land abounds with, for I have no need;
She pipes in independence on her reed;
There is no lack of poets to rehearse
To equal rights-to bandy Freedom's name, Nor show how withering is Slavery's curse: Yet needs a Milton for the universe
To bring its tyrants of the mind to shame;
Land of these mighty spirits! is thy womb
Still pregnant with a mightier, who shall write The epitaph upon Oppression's tomb,
And pierce the depths of ignorance with light? Oh! that the glorious advent might but come
Before I slumber in eternal night!