Mammon's plague-ships throng the waves:

O 'twere mercy to the slaves,
Were the maws of sharks their graves!

Not for all the gems and gold,

Which thy streams and mountains hold,
Or for which thy sons are sold,

Land of negroes! would I dare
In this felon-trade to share,
Or to brand its guilt forbear.

Hercules! thy pillars stand,
Sentinels of sea and land!
Cloud-clapt Atlas towers at hand.

Where, when Cato's word was fate
Fell the Carthaginian state,

And where exiled Marius sate,

Mark the dens of caitiff Moors;

Ha! the pirates seize their oars,

Haste we from the' accursed shores.

Egypt's hieroglyphic realm

Other floods than Nile's o'erwhelm,
Slaves turn'd despots hold the helm.

Judah's cities are forlorn,

Lebanon and Carmel shorn,

Zion trampled down with scorn.

Greece, thine ancient lamp is spent ;

Thou art thine own monument;

But the sepulchre is rent,

And a wind is on the wing,

At whose breath new heroes spring,
Sages teach, and poets sing.

Italy, thy beauties shroud
In a gorgeous evening cloud;
Thy refulgent head is bow'd.

Rome, in ruins lovely still,
On her capitolian hill,

Bids thee, mourner, weep thy fill.

Yet where Roman genius reigns,
Roman blood must warm the veins ;

Look well, tyrants, to chains.

your

Splendid realm of old romance,

Spain, thy tower-crown'd crest advance, Grasp the shield, and couch the lance.

At the fire-flash of thine eye,

Giant bigotry would fly,

At thy voice oppression die.

Lusitania, from the dust,

Shake thy locks, thy cause is just,
Strike for freedom, strike and trust.

France, I hurry from thy shore,

Thou art not the France of yore, Thou art new-born France no more.

Great thou wast; and who like thee?
Then mad-drunk with liberty;
What now? - neither great nor free.

Sweep by Holland like the blast,
One quick glance on Denmark cast,
Sweden, Russia, — all are past.

Elbe nor Weser tempt my stay ;
Germany, beware the day,

When thy schools again bear sway.

Now to thee, to thee, I fly,
Fairest isle, beneath the sky,
To my heart, as in mine eye.

I have seen them, one by one,
Every shore beneath the sun,
And my voyage now is done.

While I bid them all be blest,
Britain is my home, my rest;

- Mine own land! I love thee best.

Scarborough, December, 1826.

BIRDS.

THE SWALLOW.

SWALLOW, why homeward turn'd thy joyful wing?
In a far land I heard the voice of spring;
I found myself that moment on the way;
My wings, my wings, they had not power to stay.

SKYLARKS.

What hand lets fly the skylark from his rest?
-That which detains his mate upon the nest;
Love sends him soaring to the fields above;
She broods below, all bound with cords of love.

THE CUCKOO.

Why art thou always welcome, lonely bird?

-The heart grows young again when I am heard ; Nor in my double note the magic lies,

But in the fields, the woods, the streams, and skies.

THE RED-BREAST.

Familiar warbler, wherefore art thou come ?

To sing to thee, when all beside are dumb; Pray let thy little children drop a crumb.

THE SPARROW.

Sparrow, the gun is levell'd, quit that wall.
Without the will of heaven I cannot fall.

THE RING-DOVE.

Art thou the bird that saw the waters cease? -Yes, and brought home the olive-leaf of peace; Henceforth I haunt the woods of thickest green, Pleased to be often heard, but seldom seen.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

Minstrel, what makes thy song so sad, so sweet?
-Love, love;-there agony and rapture meet;
O'tis the dream of happiness, to feign
Sorrow in joy, and wring delight from pain!

THE WATER-WAGTAIL.

What art thou made of,-air, or light, or dew?

-I have no time to tell you, if I knew ;

My tail, ask that,-perhaps may solve the matter: I've miss'd three flies already by this chatter.

THE WREN.

Wren, canst thou squeeze into a hole so small?
-Ay, with nine nestlings too, and room for all;
Go, compass sea and land in search of bliss,
Then tell me if you find a happier home than this.

THE THRUSH.

Thrush, thrush, have mercy on thy little bill. "I play to please myself, albeit ill*;"

Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar. June.