Imatges de pàgina


The Shepherd.

Book VIL Chi.

Swthard da

Heath sculp.

He finds the lacerated lamb of anothers flock. This moment I beheld him leaning with his head against his crook), with pitrous indination looking down upon it.

Publish: as the Act directs, by JJohnson in S Pauls Church Yard, 1 August 1780.

est peasant who traverses the bleakest mountains.-He finds the lacerated lamb of another's flock. This moment I beheld him leaning with his head against his crook, with piteous inclination looking down upon it.-Oh! had I come one moment sooner !—it bleeds to death-his gentle heart bleeds with it.

Peace to thee, generous swain! I fee thou walkest off with anguish-but thy joys shall balance it; for happy is thy cottage, and happy is the sharer of it, and happy are the lambs which sport about you.








ISGUISE thyself as thou wilt, ftill SLAVERY ! ftill

thou art a bitter draught; and though thousands in all ages

have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. It is thou, LIBERTY, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom all in public or in private worfhip, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be fo, till nature herself shall change-notint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into ironwith thee to smile upon him as he eats his cruft, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious Heaven! grant me but health, thou great Bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion; and shower down thy mitres, if it seems good unto thy divine providence, upon those heads which are aching for them.

PURSUING these ideas, I sat down close by my table, and leaning my head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself


the miseries of confinement. I was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination.

I was going to begin with the millions of my fellowcreatures born to no inheritance but slavery; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it nearer me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but distract me -I took a single captive, and having first shut him

up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take his picture.

I BEHELD his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it was which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer I saw him pale and feverish : in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood-he had seen no fun, no moon in all that time nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice. His children

--But here my heart began to bleed--and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait.

He was fitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the furtheft corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed : a little calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed therehe had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rufty nail he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cat it down-fhook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle-He gave a deep figh--I saw the iron enter into his soul burft into


tears- I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn.





Obadiah-Here is fad news, Trim, cried Sufannah, wiping her eyes as Trim ftepped into the kitchen,--mafter Bobby is dead.

I LAMENT for him from my heart and my foul, said Trim, fetching a figh-Poor creature ! -poor boy! poor gentleman !

He was alive laft Whitsuntide, said the coachman.Whitsuntide! alas! cried Trim, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the fame attitude in which he read the fermon, what is Whitsuntide, Jonathan, (for that was the coachman's name) or Shrovetide, or any tide or time past, to this ? Are we not here now, continued the corporal, (ftriking the end of his stick perpendicular upon the floor, so as to give an idea of health and stability) and are we not (dropping his hat upon the ground) gone ! in a moment!-It was infinitely striking ! Safannah burst into a flood of tears.-We are not stocks and stones-- Jonathan, Obadiah, the cook-maid, all melted. The foolish fat scullion herself, who was scouring a fish-kettle upon

her knees, was roused with it. The whole kitchen crouded about the corporal.

“ Are we not here now;---and gone in a moment?" There was nothing in the sentence it was one of your


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