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She sat, and a shield at her side
Shed light, like a sun on the waves,
And smiling divinely, she cried-

"I go to make freemen of slaves."

Then raising her voice to a strain

The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sung of the slave's broken chain,
Wherever her glory appear'd.
Some clouds, which had over us hung,
Fled, chased by her melody clear,
And methought while she liberty sung,
'Twas liberty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a slave-cultured island we came,
Where a demon, her enemy, stood-
Oppression his terrible name.
In his hand, as the sign of his sway,
A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
And stood looking out for his prey
From Africa's sorrowful shore.

But soon as approaching the land

That goddess-like woman he view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand, With blood of his subjects imbrued. I saw him both sicken and die,

And the moment the monster expired, Heard shouts, that ascended the sky, From thousands with rapture inspired.

Awaking, how could I but muse

At what such a dream should betide? But soon my ear caught the glad news, Which served my weak thought for a guide — That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves For the hatred she ever has shown, To the black-sceptre'd rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own.

LINES,

COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF

ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW
WILLIAM, OF WESTON.

[Composed in June, 1788. Mr Cowper died aged eighty-seven.]

FAREWELL! endued with all that could engage
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age!
In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd

Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old;

2

In life's last stage, (O blessings rarely found!)
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd;
Through every period of this changeful state
Unchanged thyself— wise, good, affectionate!

Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem
O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme,
Although thy worth be more than half supprest,
Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.

THE DOG AND THE WATER LILY.

NO FABLE.

[This exquisite moral application of an event so trivial in itself, was composed in July, 1788. Beau, a present to the Poet from the Misses Gunning, daughters of Sir Robert Gunning, celebrated for their beauty, and for having married two of the richest peers of England, was a constant attendant upon his master in all his rambles, and is even now remembered by some of the aged inhabitants of Olney. His skin stuffed is still, or was, at Eartham, in possession of Mr Hayley's heirs.]

THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,

When, 'scaped from literary cares,
I wander'd on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree,

(Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace
That spaniel found for me,)

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown ;
Their beauties I intent survey'd,
And one I wish'd my own.

With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land;

But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains

With fix'd considerate face,
And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.

But with a chirrup clear and strong,
Dispersing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and follow'd long
The windings of the stream.

My ramble finish'd, I return'd,
Beau trotting far before,

The floating wreath again discern'd,
And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd

Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried,

Shall hear of this thy deed: My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed:

But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To shew a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.

ON THE DEATH OF

LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.

[Cowper relates this event in a letter to Rose.]

September 25, 1788.

YE nymphs, if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
O share Maria's grief!

Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)
Assassin'd by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute,

Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught, he all the sounds express'd
Of flageolet or flute.

The honours of his ebon poll

Were brighter than the sleekest mole;
His bosom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise,
To sweep away the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;

And Bully's cage supported stood
On props of smoothest-shaven wood,
Large-built, and latticed well.

Well-latticed — but the grate, alas !
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,

But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried,
The swains their baskets make.

Night veil'd the pole, all seem'd secure :
When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,

A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout,
And badger-colour'd hide.

He entering at the study door,

Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind

Conjectured, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest;
In sleep he seem'd to view
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
And, screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-
Ah, muse! forbear to speak

Minute the horrors that ensued ;

His teeth were strong, the cage was wood-
He left poor Bully's beak.

O had he made that too his prey;
That beak, whence issued many a lay
Of such mellifluous tone,

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