2797-] 
Beam o’er the neighb’ring plain, 
Or mountain’s lonely fide : 
For oft poor travellers benighted ftray, 
Wide of the village path, at that dark hour, 
When not a watch-dog barks, 
. No diftant theep-bell founds. 
-Or ling’ring onward, fear the chafm’s depth, 
Conceal’d by drifted fnow ; as the cold blaft 
Howls through the leaflefs thorn, 
And windings of the {teep. \ 
Lambridge, Fuly 8, 1797- 
a 
aN the year 1760, a very formidable infurrec- 
tion.of the Jamaica negroes took place —~ 
This was inftigated by the profeflors of a 
{pecies of incantation, known among the 
‘blacks by the name of Ox1. The Os, 
Jays Mr. Bo warns, is ufually compofed of 
a farrago of materials, viz. blood, feathers, 
parrots’ beaks, dogs’ teeth, alligator's teeth, 
' broken battles, graue dirt, rum, and egg-/hells. 
By the proper mixture and application of 
thefe materials, the negroes imagine they, can 
effectuate the deftruction of their enemies. 
The account of the above-mentioned circum= 
ftances, contained in Epwarps’s Hittory 
of the Weft-Indies, gave birth to the fal- 
wowing Ode, 
THE NEGRO INCANTATION, 
iid 
ZJAIL! ye facred horrors hail! 
Which broosing o’er this lonely vale, 
Swell the heart, impearl the eye, — 
And raife the rapt foul to the fky. 
Hail! fpirits of the fwarthy dead, 
Who, flitting thro’ the dreary thade, 
To roufe your fons to vengeance fell, 
Nightly raife the troublous yell! 
‘Hail! Minifter of 11], whofe iron pow’r 
Pervades refiftlefs earth, and fea, and air, 
Shed all thy influence.on this folemn hour, 
When we with magic rites the white man’s 
doom prepare.” , 

Thus Congo {pake, ‘ whattime the moon, 
“ Riding in her higheft noon !” 
‘Now beam’d upon the fable crowd, 
Now vanilrd in the thickening cloud, 
*T was filence all—with frantic looky 
His foells the hoary wizard took; 
Bending o’er the guiv’ring flame, 
Convulfion fhook his giant frame. 
Givfe and more clofe the fhuddering captives 
throng, P 
With breath reprefs’d, and ftraining eye, they 
wait— 
When midft the plantains burfts the awful fong, 
The words of myftic might, that feal their 
tyrants’ fate. 
Att. 
Hate! the magic threds preparers 
Thus the white man’s corfe we tear. 
lo! feathers from the raven’s plume, 
That croaks our proud oppreffor’s doom, 
Now to aid the potent fpell, 
Cruth we next the brittle hell 
| Original Poetry, st 
Fearful omen to the foe, 
Look ! the blanched bones we throw. 
From mouldering graves we ftole this hallow’d 
earthy 
Which, mix'd with blood, winds up the myf- ! 
tic charm 5 
Wide yawns the grave for all of northern birth, 
And foon fhali fmoke with blood each fable 
warrior’s arm. 
IV. 
Hark! the pealing thunders roll, 
Grateful to the troubled foul. 
See! the gleamy lightnings play, 
To point you to your deftin’d prey. . 
Hence! with filent foot and flow, 
_ And fudden firike the deadly blow : 
Your foes, the palmy fhade beneath, 
Lie lock’din fleep—their fleep is death ! 
Go ! let the memory of the fmarting thong 
Outplead the pity that would prompt to fave: 
Go! let the oppreffor’s contumelious wrong, 
Twice nerve the hero’s arm, and make the 
coward brave, 
we W. SHEPHERD. 
\ 
RSS 
ODE TO THE SKY-LARK. 
GWEETEST warbler of the fkiesy 
Soon as motning’s purple dyes 
‘O’er the eaftern mountains float, 
‘Waken’d by thy merry note, 
Thro’ the fields of yellow corny _ 
That Merfey’s, winding banks adorn, » 
Or green meads I gaily pals, 
And lightly brufh the dewy grafs. 
I love to hear thy matin lay, 
And warbling wild notes die away 5 
I love to mark thy upward flight, 
And fee thee leffen from my fights 
Then, ended thy {weet madrigal, 
Sudden twift I fee thee fall, 
With wearled wing, and beating breaft, 
Near thy chirping younglings’ nett. 
« 
Ah! who that hears thee carol free 
Thofe jocund notes of Jiberty, 
And fees thee independent foar, 
With gladfome wing, the blue fky o’ery 
In wiry cage would thee reftrain, .. 
To pant for liberty in vain; 
And fee thee ’gainft ‘hy prifon grate 
Thy little wings indigrant beat, 
And peck and flutter rc und/and round 
‘Thy narrow, lohely, hated bound 5 
And yet not ope thy prifon door, 
To give thee liberty once more. 
None! none! but he whofe viciows eye 
The charms of nature can’t enjoy 5 
Who dozes thofe fweet hours away, 
When thou begin’ft thy merry lay 5 
And ’caufe his lazy limbs rctule 
To tread the meadow’s morning dewsy 
And there thy early wild notes hear 
He keeps thee lonely prifoner. 
Not fuch am I, fweet warbler 5 no, 
For fhould t.y firains as fweetly flowy 
As fweetly flow, as gaily found, 
Within thy priton’s wiry bound, 
oe ears 



