Alas! the blooming youth is gone!
How swift his days have flown;
He's left his recent bride forlorn,
In bitterness to moan.
The nuptial harp just gayly tun'd,
Is soon to sorrow given;
Alas! his sweetest pleasure's ruin'd!
The golden band is…
Among the village maidens gay,
Thou are the lovely queen;
Neatly deck'd in fine array,
Yes, lovely ADELINE.
Thy form is delicately fair,
And artless is thy mein;
And other charming graces rare,
Adorn thee, ADELINE.
The crimson rose that paints thy…
Adieu, to my dear native shore,To toss on the boisterous wave;To enjoy my kindred no more,But to weep - the tears of a SLAVE!By the sons of freemen I'm borne,To a land of the free and the brave;From my wife and children I'm torn,To weep - the sad…
----- And fierce Oppression in my dream saw --
His victims bound in fetters at his feet: Their eyes bent to the ground - their faces dark, And deeply dyed with ebon, though the sun That branded deep his mark upon their face, Was rising on their land,…
Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,
I laugh'd and danc'd, and talk'd and sung,
And, proud of health, of freedom vain,
Dreampt not of sorrow, care, or pain;
Concluding in those hours of glee,
That all the world was made for me.
IS GLOUCESTER dead! The man of GOD?Why! I saw him, but the other dayWith cheerfulness upon his brow,Oh! has he now so soon decayed!YES, I saw him, mount the sacred desk;There, with energy proclaim the truth,While, listening ears, hung upon his…
'Twas on that glad and glorious morn
Rejoicing freemen love so well,
A Chief, from distant Afric torn,
Lay chain'd within his prison cell;
And, as from troubled sleep he rose, His own, his country's burning woes, Rush'd on his soul, - and in his…
Close on the beach, where Ocean's waves
Roll wild and furious to the shore,
A pining maiden sits and raves,
Her sighs commixing with the roar.
'Twas once, ah! once her breast knew joy,
And tears scath'd not her blooming cheek;
But there are griefs…
Hail! land of Leonidas still,
Though Moslems encircle thy shore;
And swear in their vengeance to fill
The cup of thy destiny o'er.
Yet quail not, descendants of those,
The heroes of Marathon's plain;
Better lay where your fathers repose,
Ye banks, ye vallies, and ye groves,Ye streams that murmur near the spot,When sweetly fled my youthful days,Ye never sure shall be forgot.Though far from you, by fortune tostAround this changing world of sorrow,The thought of scenes long past and…