Of the thousands that scoffed was there none to tell

now

How mighty His vengeance when kindled His brow.
The gay and the reckless, and those vexed with cares,
The young in their wine-cups, the man of gray hairs,
The noble in greatness, the maiden in pride,
Alike met the besom-they slept 'neath the tide!
The Patriarch lingered on Ararat still,

The light of Jehovah yet waved on that hill;
And dear to his heart in that wilderness-world,
Was the cloud of rich mercy that over him curled :
And in vision he spake, while its hallowed power
Woke the soul of the seer in prophecy's hour:
A deed of the night, Ham! was known unto thee,
And Canaan subdued to his brethren shall be.
For Ham is poured out the red vial of wrath,
O'er the portion of Canaan hath passed the fell scath;
On the shores of the Ethiop is gathered the flood,
Come not on my sight, O ye visions of blood!
Why floats on mine ear that harrowing cry?
With the crime-tainted breeze why mingles the sigh?
'Tis the groan of the captive, the shriek of the slave,
Ah! he lays down his fetters and stripes in the grave!
To the land of the South speeds the merciless barque,
'Tis not, O my God! thy delivering ark!-

It comes from the white Christian-trafficker's clime,
And the Cross of the Innocent wavers o'er crime;
That banner floats high on the death-scented gale,
From that sepulchre-barque comes the prisoner's
wail,

The cowardly taunt is that African's food,

His tears are for thirst and his aliment blood;

Recollections of home with its treasures pass o'er him, The long ling'ring watchings of grief are before him, Madly he rushes to where the dark billow

Yields to the wretched its cold dreamless pillow;
He sinks-an immortal forever hath flown,

To wander away from the light of the throne;
God! on me and on mine thou hast scattered thy dew,
Let thy rainbow of love beam on Africa too!

Look afar, my First born! to the regions that lie
Luxuriant and fair 'neath the young eastern sky;
Whose rivers roll onward their silvery flood
Through vales that are lovely as gardens of God:
The birth-place of blessings, uncounted and free,
The land of rich promise I give unto thee;
For possession to thee and thy children, to them
An inheritance worthy the offspring of Shem.
Yet not for the plains where fertility teems
In abundance, surpassing the husbandman's dreams;
Nor yet for the valley, or cedar-clad mountain,
Or streams that gush out from many a fountain,
Or rivers that water the wide plain of palms;
Not for these, O my son-of decay are these charms,
Do I bless yon possessions, for now to mine eye
The dim flood of ages rolls fearfully by-

I see a Deliverer, beneath Syrian skies
I behold offered up the One Sacrifice!
Lo, blessings poured out from obscure Galilee
In floods, shall all nations enrich, yea, I see
Kings, warriors, and people of languages far,
Bow down to His sceptre who rides by name JAH!
Hasten thou, day of wonder! break out holy morn,
When the Uncreate Godhead, a babe shall be born!

God shall bless and enlarge thee, O Japheth! and

thou

Awhile shalt repose beneath Shem's fruitful bough; To thee and to thine the portion shall be

Of lands stretching far to the uttermost sea; Beyond the tall mountain, whose proudest cliff sees His base idly washed by blue Euphrates;

Even there where the sun on the wave's yielding breast,

Descends in the eve of his glory to rest.

Regions well favoured, my son! shall be thine;
Hail shores of the blest! where beneath his own vine
Each one shall repose.
Hail land of the Free!
And tell me, my spirit! what more wouldst thou see?
Why opens to vision the vista of years?

Ah, why to one robed in clay-vestment appears
Fruition of blessings to men yet unknown?

Sure the light that waves round thee is caught from the throne;

The cloud big with mercies already is o'er thee;
A world disenthralled and redeemed is before thee,
Arise, O my spirit! thou seest the birth

Of glories, surviving this heaven and earth!

"Brother!-Here were we born.

These forests are made dear

Where can we find

to us by the recollections of childhood. again the pleasant place of our youth?

Here are our burial

grounds. Can we say to the bones of our fathers, Rise and go with us into a foreign land"? Speech of an Indian Chief.

SHALL the warrior flee his home?
Shall the Chief a stranger roam?
Will the white man in his wrath
Chase the Indian from his path?
Wanderer from his lakes removed,
Exile from the shades he loved?
Who shall hurl the ready spear?
Who transfix the flying deer?
Who the buffalo will meet,
Hunted from his dark retreat?
Who shall guide the swift canoe?
Barb the arrow, bend the yew?
Will the Spirit of the mountain,
Guardian of the vale and fountain,
Give him victory when afar,
Spoil and glory in the war?
Shall he leave his father's clay?
To the hallowed ashes say:
Rise! forsake your native bed--
Rise--the Desolate have fled!

I CANNOT BUT SIGH.

I CANNOT but sigh, when the friends of my youth, Who repaid with fond ardour the love that I gave, Who tendered their pledge on the altar of truth, Forgetful return to their rest in the grave.

I cannot but sigh when the visions of joy
That rose on gay childhood and sought to allure,
Like the dreams of the wretched but smiled to de-
stroy,

Or adorn the bright sketchings they failed to ensure.

I cannot but sigh while reviewing the years,
When hope in this bosom beat ardent and high:
O Memory! what art thou? a record of tears,
Of meteor-enjoyments that sparkle and die.

I cannot but sigh when futurity's scroll
Unfolding, gives sign of no pleasure in store;
When regret for the past still remains on the soul,
While the present is lost in aspiring to more.

I cannot but sigh when heart-stricken I scan
The victims of misery that float down the stream;
And even recounting the bliss of frail man,
I cannot but sigh, for that bliss is a dream.