oe 
POETRY. 
‘HE NEGRO’S COMPLAINT. 
For the Bee. 
"Wore over the tremulous sea, 
The moon spread her mantle of light, 
And the gale, gently dying away, 
Breath’d soft on the bosom of night; 
On the forecastle Maraton stood, 
And pour’d forth his sorrowful tales 
‘His téars fell unseen on the flood, 
His sighs pafs’d unheard on the gale. 
Ak, wretch! in wild anguith he cried, 
From.country and liberty torn! 
Ah Maraton! would thou hadst died 
Ere over the salt seas thou wast borne! 
Thro’ the grovés of Angola stray’d, 
Love arid hope made my bosom their home, 
rT talk’d with my favourite maid, 
(Nor dreamt of the sorrow to come. 
From the thicket the man hunter sprung! 
* My cries echoed loud thro’ the air; 
“There was fury and wrath in his tongue, 
He was deaf to the fhrieks of despair! 
Accurs’d be the mercilefs band, 
That his love could from Maraton tear ! 
And blasted this impotent hand, 
: That was sever’d from all I held dear! 
Flow ye tears down my cheeks, ever flow, 
Still let sleep from my eyelids depart, 
And still may. the arrows of woe, 
Drink deep of the stream:of my heart. 
But hark !—In the:silence of night, 
My Addila’s accents I hear, 
And mournful, beneath the wan light, 
I see her lov’d image appear. 
Slow o’er the smooth ocean fhe glides, 
‘As the mist that hangs light on the wave, 
And fondly her lover the chides, 
That lingers so long from his grave. 
“VOL. ix. II + 
