POETRY. A'23
When from my tortur'd heart the fliafc I drew.
Sighs, lUuggling after fighs, convulfive flole ; For oh 1 'twas hard thy empire to lubdue ;
- Twas hard ih' impetuous paflion to controul.
The linnet, fluttering on the bird-lime fpravs.
Thus leave? his csptiv'd feathers, and is free: But foon his little wings new plum'd difplays.
And flies with caution by the fatal tree. So much of freedom and of eafe I boaft ;
Millaken Nice thinks I Hill adc-e : But do not thofe declaim on hardftiips moft.
Who moft have felt them, and who feel no more ? The warrior thus defcribes th' embattled plain ;
Thus bares his fears, thus fights his perils o'er : Thus the freed flave o'erjoy'd points out the chain,
Which late he dragg'd on Afric's hollile (here, I fpeak cf freedom, 'lii the theme I love, ,
Nor care if Nice credit what I fay ; I fpeak, nor curious afk, if (he approve.
Or, whea fne names me. if (he's grave or gay. Thus part a fickle fair, and lover true;
Let thofe, who lofe the moft, the mod regret ! A heart fo faithful thou can'il ne'er fubdue ;
It is not hard to find a new cocjuet.
The Indian Philosopher.
I.
WHY ftiould our joys transform to pain ? Why gentle Hymen's filken chain A plague of iron prove ? Good Gods ! 'tis ftrange the chain that binds iViillions of hands, fhould leave their minds At fuch a loofe from love !
2.
In vain I fought the wond'rous caufe, Search'd the wide fields of nature's laws.
And urg'd the fchools in vain ; Till deep in thought, within my breaft My foul retir'd, and Slumber dreft
A bright inftruclive fcene.
O'er the wide land, and crofs the tide. On Fancy's airy wing I ride ;
Sweet rapture of the mind ! Till on the banks of Ganges' flood. In a tall antient grove I ftood.
For facred ufe defign'd.
£64 4. Hard
