Now, though tyrant Winter, howling,
Shakes the world with tempests round,
Heaven above with vapours scowling,
Frost imprisons all the ground:
Robin! what are these to thee?
Thou art bless'd with liberty.
Though yon fair majestic river[70]
Mourns in solid icy chains,
Though yon flocks and cattle shiver
On the desolated plains:
Robin! thou art gay and free,
Happy in thy liberty.
Hunger never shall disturb thee,
While my rates one crumb afford;
Colds nor cramps shall ne'er oppress thee;
Come and share my humble board:
Robin! come and live with me—
Live, yet still at liberty.
Soon shall Spring, in smiles and blushes,
Steal upon the blooming year;
Then, amid the enamour'd bushes,
Thy sweet song shall warble clear:
Then shall I, too, join with thee—
Swell the hymn of Liberty.
Should some rough, unfeeling dobbin,
In this iron-hearted age,
Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin,
And confine thee in a cage,
Then, poor prisoner! think of me—
Think, and sigh for liberty.
SLAVERY THAT WAS.
Ages, ages have departed,
Since the first dark vessel bore
Afric's children, broken-hearted,
To the Caribbéan shore;
She, like Rachel,
Weeping, for they were no more.
Millions, millions, have been slaughter'd,
In the fight and on the deep;
Millions, millions more have water'd,
With such tears as captives weep,
Fields of travail,
Where their bones till doomsday sleep.
Mercy, Mercy, vainly pleading,
Rent her garments, smote her breast,
Till a voice from Heaven proceeding,
Gladden'd all the gloomy west,—
"Come, ye weary,
Come, and I will give you rest!"