Thou savage in an angel's form,

No more will I such homage render;

For what avails each outward charm,

Without a heart that's kind and tender!

I'll throw my idle crook away,

My pipe and sylvan haunts forsaking,

Beneath a friar's garb to hide

The weakness of a heart that's breaking.

Then in my gown, of sober gray,

Along that winding path I'll wander,

And wend my melancholy way,

To the sad shrine that waits me yonder.

There, in the calm monastic shade,

All injuries must be forgiven;

And there, for thee, obdurate Maid,
My orisons shall rise to heaven.

No more I'll wear this cypress wreath, No more petition, or reprove thee;Silent I go to meet my death,

Or learn the art no more to love thee.

LXIV.

THE NEGRO'S FUNERAL.

-EDWARDS.

MAHALI dies! O'er yonder plain

His bier is borne; the sable train
By youthful virgins led.

Daughters of injured Afric, say,
Why raise ye thus the grateful lay?
Why triumph o'er the dead?

No tear bedews their fixed eye,
'Tis now the hero lives, they cry,
Releas'd from Slavery's chain;
Beyond the billowy surge he flies,
And joyful views his native skies,

And long-lost bowers again.

On Coromantyn's palmy soil,

Heroic deeds, and martial toil,

Shall fill each glorious day :

Love, fond and faithful, crown thy nights,

And bliss unbought, unmix'd delights,

Past cruel wrongs repay.

Nor lordly Pride's stern avarice there,
Alone shall nature's bounties share,

To all her children free :

For thee, the dulcet reed shall spring,
His balmy bowl the Cocoa bring,

The Anana bloom for thee.

The thunder hark!-'Tis Afric's God,
He wakes-he lifts the avenging rod,
And speeds the impatient hours:
From Niger's golden stream he calls,
Fair freedom comes,-oppression falls,

And vengeance yet is ours.

Now, Christian, now in wild dismay,
Of Afric's proud revenge the prey,

Go roam the affrighted wood;
Transform'd to tigers fierce and fell,

Thy race shall prowl with savage yell,
And glut their rage for blood.

But soft!-Beneath yon Tamarind shade, Now let the hero's limbs be laid;

Sweet slumbers bless the brave;

There shall the breezes shed perfume,

Nor livid lightnings blast the bloom

That decks Mahali's grave.