Sells truth at the shrine of polite eloquence,
To please the soft taste, and allure the gay sense.
Nor is he less guilty who seasons with wit,
Keen satire or humour the Lord's holy writ:
Does e'er Saul of Tarsus direct to a text
That makes us cry this breath, and titter the next ?
Mayhap the poor black had some latent intent,
And thought by this conduct to give it a vent.
He might feel a fancy to favour his plan,
'Twas no greater crime than to pilfer a man!
The argument's just, and I feel its sharp edge;
It cuts like a razor, and cleaves like a wedge;
Strikes home on my reason, I blush in a minute,
And feel all the truth and the reason that's in it:
A Bible to steal is a theft it is true, man,
But stealing and slaving the blacks is inhuman !
Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of this green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Alpine mountains, or his setting beams,
Flame on the Atlantic Isles: 'tis nought to me,
Since God is ever present, ever felt!
In the void waste as in the city full,
And where he vital breathes, there must be joy.
THOU climate of cold, where the icy winds blow,
Where the maple fire burns and the lofty pines grow;
E'er I quit thy cold shores for a happier clime,
I'll chant my farewell in a fragment of rhyme.
Seven years have I travell'd thy desolate woods!
And cross'd thy broad lakes, and thy icy-pav'd floods!
With tempest and snow-drift impeding my course,
And icicles hanging to me and my horse!
But shall I forget in thy winters severe,
When crossing bleak marshses and barrens most drear: Full many a blessing has warmed my heart: [smart. Tho' the cold chill'd my blood, and my fingers would
With a rapture of joy I would gratefully bless!
The cottage that cheer'd in thy bleak wilderness!
Tho' my lodging was cold, and the stars I could see
Thro' the chinks of my log-room bright twinkling on me.
How oft have I 'scap'd by the skin of my teeth!
When the ice was worn thin by the current beneath;
And when by the showers the torrents were rais'd,
I trembled till past, but deliver'd, I prais'd!
Hence learn, O my soul! to put trust in thy Lord!
His care and past dangers be kept on record:
The sea and the desert with safety are cross'd;
Be faithful, thou shalt not in Jordan be lost.
Tho' thy Spring is unpleasant, thy Winter severe;
And freezing and sea-fog encircle the year:
Yet thy wilds have their game, and thy forests their
And kind are the natives that people thy shores.
The Moose in thy woods, and the Bears in thy brakes,
The trout in thy streams, and the fowls on thy lakes;
Thy salmon, thy maple, and fine pome-de-terre, *
A bountiful Providence jointly declare.
Nor do I forget that fair piety grows,
Like an ever-green plant amid thy bleaching snows:
Who rules the green earth from the Oby to Nile,
Has illumin'd thy wastes with his lucific smile.
Thy forests and snow-drifts, thy marshes and bogs,
Thy birch-cover'd wigwams and sun-veiling fogs;
Thy cold rocky soil, and thy Winters severe,
His presence can sweeten, his blessing can cheer.
For 'tis not in seasons or climes to impart
The bliss that enlivens and gladdens the heart;
Spitsbergen's cold shores, or Borneo's hot Isle,
Can please, if illumin'd with Jesus's smile!
That smile is a spring of delight to the soul,
Tho' tempests arise and the fierce billows roll;
It gladdens the desert, it charms the wild wave,
Gives ease in affliction, and hope in the grave.
# Potatoes.
Ye high-coned pines, and ye balsamic firs!
Ye maples so sweet, and ye quiv’ring poplars ; [claim
'Neath your shades* I have stood, while ye heard me pro-
Salvation unbounded thro’ Jesus's name!
But ne'er shall I wander thy woodlands again,
Where silence and gloom, brother foresters, reigo:
Nor travel thy dreary Peninsula o'er,
From the Canada gulf to the Atlantic shore.
Farewell to thy plains, and adieu to thy hills!
Thy deep-rapid rivers, and wood-cutting mills,
Thy terrible snow drifts, thy bleak torpid coast :
Adieu to the region of sea-fog and frost !
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