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For oft as memory's retrospective eye

Glanced at the blighted joys of days gone by,

How sadly sweet appeared those smiling hours,

When hope had strewed life's thorny path with flowers; How dark, and shadowed o'er with fearful gloom,

The unimagined horrors of the tomb!

When she remembered all her joy and pain,

And in a moment lived her life again;

Each sorrow seemed to smile, that frowned before,
Her cup of blessing then was running o'er,

Days passed in grief, beamed now in hues of bliss,
Fancy gilt them, but terror clouded this!
Yet swift her spirit, resolutely proud,
Scorned every hope, by mercy disallowed:
The priests have long invoked their idol god,
The murd'rous pile, his altar, thirsts for blood,
A horrid silence summons to the grave,
All wait for her, and none stands forth to save.
O shall she tremble now, nor die the same,
Shall she not fearless rush into the flame?
From her dark eye she strikes the rising tear,
And firmly mounts the pile -a widow's bier.
Instant, with furious zeal and willing hands,
Attendant Brahmins ply the ready brands ;
And as the flames are raging fierce and high,
And mount in rushing columns to the sky,
Lest those wild shrieks, or pity's soft appeal
Should rouse one hand to save, one heart to feel,*
Madly exulting in their victim's doom

They heap with fiendish haste her fiery tomb,
Clash the loud cymbals, wake the trumpet's note,
Roll the deep drum, and raise the deafening shout,
Till in dread discord through the startled air
Rise the mixt yells of triumph and despair!

Britain, whose pitying hand is stretched to save
From despot's iron chain the writhing slave;

* For a description of a Suttee, see Capt. Marr, as above. p.

243.

Where freedom's sons, at wild oppression's shriek,
Feel the hot tear bedew the manly cheek, —
Where the kind sympathies of social life
Sweeten the cup to one no more a wife,
Where misery never prayed nor sighed in vain,
Shall India's widowed daughters bleed again?
Let wreaths more glorious deck Britannia's head
Than theirs, who fiercely fought, or nobly bled, -
Wreaths such as happy spirits wear above,
Gemmed with the tears of gratitude and love,
Where palm and olive, twined with almond bloom,
Tell of triumphant peace and mercy's rich perfume
And ye, whose young and kindling hearts can feel
The prayer of pity fan the flame of zeal,
Trace the blest path illustrious Heber trod,
And lead the poor idolator to God!

Thus, in that happy land, where nature's voice
Sings at her toil, and bids the world rejoice,
No guiltless blood her paradise shall stain,
No demon rites her holy courts profane,
No howl of superstition rend the air,
No widow's cry, no orphan's tear, be there,
India shall cast her idol gods away,
And bless the promise of undying day.

A CARMEN SECULARE FOR CHRISTIAN

ENGLAND.

ON THE PATTERN AND IN THE METRE OF THAT FOR HEATHEN ROME, BY HORACE.

HOLY Creator, ruler of the kingdoms,

Glory of earth and heaven, the Almighty,

Thou to be praised and worshipped never ceasing,
Hear us, Jehovah!

While as in days of innocence aforetime,
We, with the choral voice of supplication,
Cry to the one great Spirit who beholds us,
Save, we beseech Thee!

May the bright sun, thy day-bestowing servant, And at whose setting blushes modest even, Still as he beams successive o'er the nations, Favor old England!

Kindly may nature, providence approving,
Bless our homes with increase, and the matrons
Gently relieving, give us noble sons and
Virtuous daughters.

Rivet the golden links of happy wedlock,
And be the social sympathies unbroken,
While on her lord the wedded wife depending,
Smiles for him only.

Still against sect and heresy protesting, Nursing her babes with motherly affection, Loving to all, and tender, may the Church be Faithful and holy:

And if Omniscience, never to be altered
In its decrees, be destiny presiding,
May Britain, by that destiny protected,
Prosper in greatness.

Pour on us kindly seasons, that abundant
Be the rich fruits of mother earth, and healthy
Still be the gale that wafts us o'er the ocean,
Conquerors ever!

Hear us, Redeemer, hear us, ever-blessed! Hear, Thou that dwellest infinite in splendor, Hear Thou that always lovest to be gracious, Rise and be with us!

If yet thou smilest favoring on England,
If yet the rose, the thistle, and the shamrock,
Form a sweet garland offered on thine altar,
Keep us united.

Let not the thief or murderer infest us,
Let not the base incendiary be near us,
Let not the foul adulterer pollute us,
Spare us from evil:

Bring up the youth in modesty and virtue
Grant to old age tranquillity and wisdom,
Give the glad sons of Britain health and honor,
Greatness and plenty.

May British mercy more than British valor
Gain from the world its laurel and its olive,
Till over all her enemies triumphant

Glories Britannia!

Help her to rule her own rebellious children,
That the wide West may honor and uphold her;
Aid her to spread the banner of protection
Over her conquests!

Save from intestine murmurings and discord,
Criminal sloth, and infidel compliance ;
Scatter the curse of national rejection
Brooding above us!

Let open faith, integrity and firmness,
Primitive truth, and piety, and prudence,
Loyal content, and patriotic virtue,

Quickly returning,

Crown us with blessings, though we be unworthy, Fill us with mercies forfeited, and rescue

From bitter hate and scorn among the Gentiles Protestant Zion.

Friend of the needy, pity and relieve them:
Prosper our arts, and sciences, and commerce:
All that can bless and beautify a nation,
Ever be Britain's!

Long as the world rejoices in thy favor,
Holding it up, Omnipotent, let England,
Let Caledonia, with her sister Erin,

Queen of the nations,

Reign, and be strong, acknowledging thy mercy;
Hear us in choral voice of supplication,
Who now invoke thy succor and thy blessing,
Father Almighty!

Yes, we accept the promise of thine answer,
Yes, we depend on pity for protection,
And upon God our confidence reposes,
Through the Redeemer.

A PRAYER FOR THE LAND.

ALMIGHTY Father! hearken,
Forgive, and help, and bless,
Nor let thine anger darken
The night of our distress;
A sin, and shame, and weakness,
Are all we call our own;

We turn to thee in meekness,
And trust on thee alone.

O God, remember Zion
And pardon all her sin!
Thy mercy we rely on,

To rein thy vengeance in,

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