In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found?
Art thou a man? a patriot? look around;
Oh! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home.
CHAINED in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude
That shrunk to hear his name,
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground;
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.
Vainly, but well, that chief had fought-
He was a captive now;
Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow:
The scars his dark broad bosom wore
Showed warrior true and brave:
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.
Then to his conqueror he spake,-
"My brother is a king:
Undo this necklace from my neck,
And take this bracelet ring,
And send me where my brother reigns,
And I will fill thy hands
With store of ivory from the plains,
And gold dust from the sands."
"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;.
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.
A price thy nation never gave
Shall yet be paid for thee;
For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,
In land beyond the sea.”
Then wept the warrior chief, and bade
To shred his locks away,
And, one by one, each heavy braid
Before the victor lay.
Thick were the platted locks, and long,
And deftly hidden there
Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crisped hair.
"Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold,
Long kept for sorest need:
Take it, thou askest sums untold,-
And say that I am freed.
Take it, my wife, the long, long day,
Weeps by the cocoa-tree,
And my young children leave their play, And ask in vain for me."
"I take thy gold,-but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife shall wait thee long."
Strong was the agony that shook
The captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.
His heart was broken,-crazed his brain,—
At once his eye grew wild:
He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whispered, and wept,-and smiled;
Yet wore not long those fatal bands,
And once, at shut of day,
They drew him forth upon the sands,
The foul hyena's prey.
GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL.
YOUNG Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,
His voice was like the voice of three.
Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passed her door,
Might see how poor a hut she had.
Now when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could anything be more alluring
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And now and then it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.
Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake,
And vowed that she should be detected,
And he on her would vengeance take.
And oft from his warm fire he'd go,
And to the fields his road would take,
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watched to seize old Goody Blake.
And once behind a rack of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand;
The moon was full and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble land.
-He hears a noise,-he's all awake,-
Again!-on tiptoe down the hill
He softly creeps,-'T is Goody Blake!
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.
Right glad was he when he beheld her :
Stick after stick did Goody pull;
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had filled her apron full.
When with her load she turned about,
The by-road back again to take ;
He started forward with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.
And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, "I've caught you then at last!"
Then Goody, who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And kneeling on the sticks, she prayed
To God that is the Judge of all.
She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm,-
"God! who art never out of hearing,
O may he never more be warm!"
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turned away.
He went complaining all the morrow,
That he was cold and very chill;
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding coat,
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the sabbath he had three.
'T was all in vain, a useless matter,
And blankets were about him pinned:
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say 't is plain,
That live as long as live he may,
He never will be warm again.
WHAT'S HALLOWED GROUND.
WHAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Unscourged by superstition's rod
To bow the knee?
That's hallowed ground,-where, mourned and missed, The lips repose our love has kissed;
But where's their memory's mansion? Is 't
Yon churchyard's bowers?
No! in ourselves their souls exist,
What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap:
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