How art and nature vie to entertain
In public shows, and mix delight with pain.
O! Zara, here, a story like my own,
With mimic skill, in borrow'd names, was shown;
An Indian chief, like me, by fraud betray'd,
And partner in his woes an Indian maid.
I can't recall the scenes, 'tis pain too great,
And, if recall'd, should shudder to relate.
To write the wonders here, I strive in vain ; Each word would ask a thousand to explain, The time shall come, O! speed the lingering hour! When Zara's charms shall lend description power; When, plac'd beside thee in the cool alcove, Or through the green savannahs as we rove, The frequent kiss shall interrupt the tale, And looks shall speak my sense, though language fail. Then shall the prodigies that round me rise, Fill thy dear bosom with a sweet surprise; Then all my knowledge to thy faithful heart, With danger gain'd, securely I'll impart. Methinks I see thy changing looks express Th' alternate sense of pleasure and distress; As all the windings of my fate I trace, And wing thy fancy swift from place to place.
Yet where, alas! has flattering thoughts convey'd The ravish'd Lover with his darling Maid? Between us still unmeasur'd oceans roll,
Which hostile barks infest, and storms control.
Be calm, my bosom, since th' unmeasur'd main,
And hostile barks, and storms, are God's domain:
He rules resistless, and his power shall guide
My life in safety o'er the roaring tide;
Shall bless the love that's built on virtue's base,
And spare me to evangelize my race.
Farewell! thy Prince still lives, and still is free:
Farewell! hope all things, and remember Me.
AT THE COURT OF ANAMABOE.
AFRICAN PRINCE,
WHEN IN ENGLAND.
SHOULD I the language of my heart conceal,
Nor warmly paint the passion that I feel;
My rising wish should groundless fears confine,
And doubts ungenerous chill the glowing line;
Would not my Prince, with nobler warmth, disdain
That love, as languid, which could stoop to feign }
Let guilt dissemble-in my faithful breast
Love reigns unblam'd, and be that love confest.
I give my bosom naked to thy view ;
For what has shame with innocence to do?
In fancy now I clasp thee to my heart,
Exchange my vows, and all my joys impart.
I catch new transport from thy speaking eye;-
But whence this sad involuntary sigh?
Why pants my bosom with intruding fears ?
Why, from my eyes, distill unbidden tears?
Why do my hands thus tremble as I write ?
Why fades thy lov'd idea from my sight?
O! art thou safe on Britain's happy shore,
From winds that bellow, and from seas that roar?
And has my Prince-(Oh, more than mortal pain!)
Betray'd by ruffians, felt the captive's chain ?
Bound were those limbs, ordain'd alone to prove
The toils of empire, and the sweets of love?
Hold, hold! Barbarians of the fiercest kind!
Fear Heaven's red lightning-'tis a Prince ye bind ;
A Prince, whom no indignities could hide,
They knew, presumptuous! and the Gods defy'd.
Where-e'er he moves, let love-join'd reverence rise,
And all mankind behold with Zara's eyes!
Thy breast alone when bounding o'er the waves To Freedom's climes, from slav'ry and from slaves; Thy breast alone the pleasing thought could frame Of what I felt, when thy dear letters came; A thousand times I held them to my breast, A thousand times my lips the paper prest:
My full heart panted with a joy too strong,
And Oh, my Prince!' dy'd faultering on my
Fainting, I sunk, unequal to the strife,
And milder joys sustain'd returning life.
Hope, sweet enchantress, round my love-sick head Delightful scenes of blest delusion spread.
"Come, come, my Prince! my charmer! haste away;
Come, come, I cry'd, thy Zara blames thy stay.
For thee the shrubs their richest sweets retain ;
For thee, new colors wait to paint the plain;
For thee, cool breezes linger in the grove,
The birds expect thee in the green alcove ;
Till thy return, the rills forget to fall,
Till thy return, the sun, the soul of all!-
He comes, my maids, in his meridian charms,
He comes refulgent to his Zara's arms;
With jocund songs proclaim my love's return;
With jocund hearts his nuptial bed adorn.
Bright as the sun, yet gentle as the dove,
He comes, uniting majesty with love."-
Too soon, alas! the blest delusion flies;
Care swells my breast, and sorrow fills my eyes.
Ah! why do thy fond words suggest a fear-
Too vast, too numerous, those already here!
Ah why with doubts torment my bleeding breast,
Of seas which storms control, and foes infest!
My heart, in all this tedious absence, knows
No thoughts but those of seas, and storms, and foes.
Each joyless morning, with the rising sun, Quick to the strand my feet spontaneous run:
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