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Shall I," says he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler pass'd you by:

How strong are those! how weak am II
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine might take offense.
Excuse me then: you know my heart,
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament!-Adieu!
For, see, the hounds are just in view.”

SECTION II.

The African Chief.

1. CHAINED in the market place he stood.
A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name.
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground;
And silently they gazed on him
As on a lion bound.

2. Vainly, but well, that chief had fought He was a captive now :

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow,

The scars his dark broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave:

A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.

3. Then to his conqueror he spake-
"My brother is a king;

Undo this necklace from my neck,
And take this bracelet ring;

And send me where my brother reigns,

And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold dust from the sands.”

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chains;
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle spear again.

A price thy nation never gave,

Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,

In lands beyond the sea."

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5. Then spoke the warrior chief, and bade
To shred his locks away;

And, one by one, each heavy braid
Before the victor lay.

Thick were the plaited locks and long,
And deftly hidden there,

Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crisped hair.

6. "Look! feast thy greedy eyes with gold,
Long kept for sorest need:
Take it, thou askest sums untold,
And say that I am freed.

Take it-my wife, the long, long day,
Weeps by the cocoa-tree;

And my young children leave ther: play,
And ask in vain for me."

7. "I take thy gold; but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong;
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife shall wait thec long."
Strong was the agony that shook
The captive's frame to hear;
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.

8. His heart was broken-crazed his brain;
At once his eye grew wild:

He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whispered, and wept, and smiled!
Yet wore not long those fatal bands;
And once at shut of day,

They drew him forth upon the sand,
The foul hyena's prey.

SECTION III.

The Sacrifice of Abraham.

1. Morn breaketh in the east.

Bryan

The purple clouds

Are putting on their gold and violet,

To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming.
Sleep is upon the waters and the wind;

And nature from the wary forest-leaf

To her majestic master, sleeps.

As yet

There is no mist upon the deep blue sky,
And the clear dew is, on the blushing blossoms
Of crimson roses in a holy rest.

2. How hallowed is the hour of morning! meet,
Aye-beautifully meet for the pure prayer.
The patriarch standeth at his tented door,
With his white locks uncover'd. 'Tis his wont
To gaze upou the gorgeous orient;
And at that hour the awful majesty
Of man who talketh often with his God,
Is wont to come again and clothe his brów,
As at his fourscore strength.

3. But now, he seemeth

To be forgetful of his vigorous frame,
And boweth to his staff as at the hour
Of noontide sultriness. And that bright sun-
He looketh at his pencil'd messengers,
Coming in golden raiment, as if all
Were but a graven scroll of fearfulness.
Ah, he is waiting till it herald in

The hour to sacrifice his much lov'd son!

4. Light poureth on the world. And Sarah stands, Watching the steps of Abraham and her child, Along the dewy sides of the far hiils,

And praying that her sunny boy faint not-
Would she have watched their paths so silently,
If she had known that he was going up,
Ev'n in his fair hair'd beauty, to be slain,
As a white lamb for sacrifice?

5.

They trod
Together onward, patriarch and child-

The bright sun throwing back the old man's shade
In strait and fair proportion, as of one
Whose years were freshly number'd. He stood up,
Even in his vigorous strength, and like a tree
Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not;
His thin, white hairs had yielded to the wind,
And left his brow uncover'd; and his face,
Impress'd with the stern majesty of grief,
Nerved to a solemn duty, now stood forth
Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime.

6. But the young boy-he of the laughing eye And ruby lip, the pride of life was on him.

He seemed to drink the morning. The sun and dew,
And the aroma of the spicy trees,

And all that giveth the delicious cast
Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light
Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts

With love and beauty. Every thing he met,

Buoyant or beautiful, the lightest wing
Of bird or insect, or the palest dye

Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path,
And joyously broke forth his tiny shout,
As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung
Away to some green spot, or clust'ring vine,
To pluck his infant trophies.

7.
Every tree
And fragrant shrub was a new hiding-place;
And he would crouch till the old man came by,
Then bound before him with his childish laugh,
Stealing a look behind him playfully,

To see if he had made his father smile.

8. The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up From the fresh daughters of the earth, and heat Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves, And bent them with blossoms to their dreams. Still trod the patriarch on with that same step Firm and unfaltering, turning not aside To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips In the sweet waters at the Syrian wells, Whose gush hath so much music.

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Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot
To toss the sunny hair from off his brow,
And spring for the fresh flowers on light wings,
As in the early morning; but he kept

Close by his father's side, and bent his head
Upon his bosom like a drooping bud,

Lifting it not, save now and then to steal
A look up to that face, whose sternness awed
His childishness to silence.

10.
It was noon-
And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself, "
And buried up his face, and pray'd for strength.
He could not look upon his son and pray;
But with his hand upon the clustering curls
Of the fair, kneeling boy, he pray'd that God
Would nerve him for that hour. Oh man was made
For the stern conflict. In a mother's love
There is more tenderness; the thousand cords
Woven with every fiber of her heart,

Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath;
But love in man is one deep principle,

Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock,
Abides the tempest,

11. He rose up and laid The wood upon the altar. All was done, He stood a moment-and a deep, quick flush Pass'd o'er his countenance; and then he nerv'd His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke"Isaac! my only son"-The boy look'd up, And Abraham turn'd his face away, and wept. 12. "Where is the lamb, my father?"-oh the tones, The sweet, the thrilling music of a child! How it doth agonize at such an hour!

It was the last, deep struggle-Abraham held
His lov'd his beautiful, his only son,

And lifted up his arm, and call'd on God-
And lo! God's Angel staid him-and he fell
Upon his face and wept.

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CHAPTER III.

DIDACTIC PIECES.

SECTION 1.

On Early Rising.

1. THE breath of night's destructive to the hue
Of every flower that blows. Go to the field,
And ask the humble daisy why it sleeps,
Soon as the sun departs: Why close the eyes
Of blossoms infinite, ere the still moon
Her oriental veil puts off? Think why,
Nor let the sweetest blossom be exposed
That nature boasts, to night's unkindly damp:
Well may it droop, and all its-freshness lose,
Compelled to taste the rank and poisonous steam
Of midnight theater, and morning ball.

2. Give to repose the solemn hour she claims;
And, from the forehead of the morning, steal
The sweet occasion. O! there is a charm
That morning has, that gives the brow of age
A smack of youth, and makes the lip of youth
Breathe perfumes exquisite. Expect it not,
Ye who till noon upon a down-bed lie,
Indulging feverish sleep, or wakeful dream
Of happiness no mortal heart has felt,
But in the regions of romance.

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