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1. Lo! the poor Indian-whose untutor'd mind
Yet simple nature to his hope has given,
Behind the cloud-topp'd hills, an humbler heaven.
POPE'S Essay on Man.
2. Where beasts with man divided empire claim.
3. Is not the red man's wigwam home
As dear to him as costly dome?
Is not his lov'd one's smile as bright
As the proud white man's worshipp'd light?
MRS. M. ST. LEON LOUD.
4. True, they have vices-such are nature's growth, But only the barbarian's-we have both.
5. Shall not one line lament the lion race,
6. He saw-and, maddening at the sight,
7. But the doom'd Indian leaves behind no trace
To save his own, or serve another's race;
8. Alas, for them! their day is o'er,
Their fires are out from shore to shore ;
Their children — look, by power oppress'd,
Their children go-to die!
1. I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love, as I was wont to have.
Not the basilisk
More deadly to the sight than is to me
3. Let me this fondness from my bosom tear;
4. The one deep cloud, that darkens every sky, Is chang'd affection's cold, averted eye.
5. I once was quick of feeling—that is o'er.
6. I trust the frown thy features wear Ere long into a smile will turn;
I would not, that a face so fair
As thine, belov'd, should look so stern.
7. Your coldness I heed not, your frown I defy;
1. Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
Famine is in thy cheeks;
Need and oppression stareth in thine eyes;
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery ;
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law.
3. A begging prince what beggar pities not?
4. Think, too, in what a woful plight
The wretch must be, whose pocket's light;
5. O grant me, Heaven! a middle state,
Neither too humble, nor too great;
6. Be honest poverty thy boasted wealth;
So shall thy friendships be sincere tho' few;
So shall thy sleep be sound, thy waking cheerful.
7. Want is a bitter and a hateful good,
Because its virtues are not understood;
Have been by need to full perfection brought.
8. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unfold; Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
9. What numbers, once in fortune's lap high-fed, Solicit the cold hand of charity!
To shock us more, solicit it in vain!
YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.
10. Aye! idleness!—the rich folks never fail To find some reason why the poor deserve Their miseries.
11. But poverty, with most who whimper forth Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe, Th' effect of laziness, or sottish waste.
INDUSTRY - INGENUOUSNESS, &c.
O, blissful poverty !
Nature, too partial to thy lot, assigns
Health, freedom, innocence, and downy peace-
He views, with keen desire,
But for pride,
We had not felt our poverty, but as
Millions of myriads feel it, cheerfully.
15. Behold yon grey-hair'd prisoner, who reclines,
The snow-white beard that hangs adown his breast.
Yet no bright blaze adds comfort to his hearth;