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Thrice twenty Summers have I seen,
Oh! he is worn with toil ! the big drops run Down his dark cheeks; hold, hold thy mercí
less hand, Pale tyrant ! for, beneath thy hard commande Q'erweari'd nature sinks. The scorching sun
As pitiless as proud prosperity,
Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies,
Arraigning, with his looks, the patient skies, While that inhuman trader lifts on high
The mangling scourge. Oh ye who, at your
Sip the blood-moisten'd beverage ! thoughts
like these Haply ye scorn : I thank thee, gracious God!
That I do feel upon my cheek, the glow Of Indignation, when, beneath the rod,
A sable brother writhes in silent woe,
STANZAS, ON THE DEATH OF A LORY.
Adieu my dear Lory-adieu !
No longer with mimic and play
Beguile a dull hour of my day.
* The Lory is a native of the East and of
very distinguished beauty amongst the Parrot tribe.
No more wilt thou feed from my hand,
'Or fed and with fullness opprest; Half asleep on my shoulder wilt stand,
Then sink in my bosom to rest.
No more, feigning sleep as I'm laid,
Thy whispers of love shall I hear? No more thy so soft serenade,
“ Pretty dear-pretty dear-pretty dear."
'Twas a dream I wou'd fondly suppose
Cruel death wou'd not seize upon yorI awoke, but alas ! when I rose
I found my sad vision was true.
I awoke ere the moment of death,
And mournfully low did I hear The call of thy last dying breath ;
Pretty dear-pretty dear-pretty dear,"
If haply thy spirit shou'd roam,
Across the wide Indian sea;
Than erst an oxotic with me.
At home riper fruits it may find
At home more congenial heat; A mistress so constant and kind,
Oh! where will the wanderer meet?
Adieu, my dear Lory, adieu !
But tell all the birds in your grovo, No other will charm me like you,
No other like you shall I love.
'Twas at that solemn hour of night
When ghosts come forth to view; Perch'd on my chair a winged sprite,
Aside my curtain drew.
6. What business here, I sternly said,
All in the dead of night.” Unaw'd it pitch'd upon my bed,
And thus began the sprite.
“ Dear lady, marvel not that I
“ So soon am here again ; “ So swiftly do we spirits fly
« Across the widest maini
4 Scarce had I bid in dying strain
u Adieu to thee, before
I Pois’d on the wing and on the ground,
• In feather'd ranks did stand ço My former friends, as soon I found,
To welcome me to land.
fi With them I cạrol thro' the day
And fly from grove to grove; 5 At eve on some sequester'd spray
“ I mourn my absent love.
" Oh pretty dear—as wont I cry—
“ A Lory listning near,
" Oh pretty dear I cry again,
« My love lie thinks is true; « Poor bird! he little knows this strain
« Of courtship is to you.
« Sweet are the fruits, that here I find,
« And sweet is liberty; “ The cage and fruits I left behind,
" How sweeter still with thee!