English

To MIRA.

In the Manner of T IBULLUS .

Why, M IRA ! why this useless waste of time?
To round your nails with artificial care,
To smear your lovely locks with fulsome grime,
And add false ringlets to your glossy hair?

The irksome task of meditating dress,
Each sacrifice to fashion's labour lost;
The more you strive to please, you please the less,
— When unadorned, then adorn'd the most. —

Let the stale virgin, with cosmetic art,
To wonted bloom the faded cheek restore;

Father of all the human race! —
The white or color'd, bond or free —
Thanks for thy gifts of heav'nly grace,
Vouchsaf'd through Jesus Christ to me.

'Tis this, mid ev'ry cruel wrong,
Has borne my sinking spirits up,
Made sorrow joyful — weakness strong,
And sweeten'd Slavery's bitter cup.

Hath not a Savior's dying hour
Made e'n the yoke of thraldom light?
Hath not thy Holy Spirit's pow'r,
Made bondage freedom — darkness bright?

Thanks, then, O Father! for the gift,

It came from gettin' 'eated, that was 'ow the thing begun,
And 'ackin' back to kennels from a ninety-minute run;
" I guess I've copped brownchitis, " says I to brother Jack,
An' then afore I knowed it I was down upon my back.

At night there came a sweatin' as left me deadly weak,
And my throat was sort of tickly an' it 'urt me for to speak;
An' then there came an 'ackin' cough as wouldn't leave alone,
An' then afore I knowed it I was only skin and bone.

I never was a 'eavy weight. I scaled at seven four,

Scorn not the darken'd brow,
Ye of that happier race,
Who wear the rose-tint on your cheek,
With beauty's fairest grace!

Nor let our humble claim,
Who bear so hard a lot,
Be disregarded in your pray'rs,
Or in your alms forgot.

For when before their judge
The gather'd nations stand;
And bondmen, long on earth oppress'd,
Shall raise th' unfetter'd hand;

And with a grateful heart,
Heav'n's perfect justice share;
The mercy, that to us you show,
Shall be remember'd there.

Pennarby shaft is dark and steep,
Eight foot wide, eight hundred deep.
Stout the bucket and tough the cord,
Strong as the arm of Winchman Ford.
" Never look down!
Stick to the line! "
That was the saying at Pennarby mine.

A stranger came to Pennarby shaft.
Lord, to see how the miners laughed!
White in the collar and stiff in the hat,
With his patent boots and his silk cravat,
Picking his way,
Dainty and fine,

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow,
" Though the breach is steep and narrow,
If we only gain the summit
Then it's odds we hold the fort.
I have ten and you have twenty,
And the thirty should be plenty,
With Henderson and Henty
And McDermott in support. "

Said Barrow to Leroy,
" It's a solid job, my boy,
For they've flanked it, and they've banked it,
And they've bored it with a mine.
But it's only fifty paces
Ere we look them in the faces;
And the men are in their places,

Fate, when you forc'd me from the weeping maid,
Patient I boare it, nor did once repine;
" Altho' depriv'd of love's solace, (I said),
The sacred joys of friendship shall be mine.

Above each trifling wish, each low concern,
In peaceful solitude's untrodden path,
With virtuous D AMON wisdom's ways I'll learn,
And coolly wait the timely stroke of death. "


" Grant, while I live, the converse of my friend,
And, O, be few the days I'm doom'd to live. " —
Such was my pray'r, in lowliness of mind,

On Maiden's solitary shore
No gaudy blossoms blow;
And silent is it's leaf-lin'd bow'r,
Or but repeats my woe.

The fairy forms that revell'd here,
In fancy's fair array,
No longer soothe the list'ning ear
With love's alluring lay.

Sullen they leave their fav'rite scene,
To sorrow's cruel crew;
But fate prepares another plain,
Ye friendly fays! for you.

Behold, by yonder tuneful stream
My M IRA builds your bow'r!
There shall you seed the secret flame,
While sighing swains adore.

By Maiden's solitary banks,
In vain I pensive stray;
And recollect each happy spot
Where lovely M IRA lay.

Sad is the comfort, small the joy,
Remembrance can bestow;
A momentary gleam at most;
Short interval of woe!

Each waving willow brings to mind
Some fleeting pleasure past;
And ev'ry blooming flow'r recals
Some joy for ever lost.

Ev'n Maiden , as in sullen haste
Her gloomy wa'ers roll,
Points back to former days, and feeds
The sorrows of my soul.

Fled are the blossoms of each tree,
And blasted ev'ry bough;
Silent and gloomy is the grove,
And solitary now.

In vain I seek each fav'rite spot
That gave delight before;
Dismal each fav'rite spot appears,
And gives delight no more.

A prospect comfortless and sad,
Long lengthens all around;
And ev'ry passing streamlet gives
A melancholy sound.

If on the azure of the east
I fix my wand'ring eye,
Love, grief, and M IRA , fill my soul;
I rave, I mourn, I cry.