His motley harem charms his gloating eye,
Where ebon, brown, and olive beauties vie:
His children, sprung alike from sloth and vice,
Are born his slaves, and loved at market price:
Has he a soul?—With his departing breath
A form shall hail him at the gates of death,
The specter Conscience,—shrieking through the gloom,
'Man, we shall meet again beyond the tomb!'"
There are few more pathetic passages in the English language than these, describing the labors and the extinctions of the Charib tribes:—
"The conflict o'er, the valiant in their graves,