PART SECOND.

I.TheLascarBoy still journey’d on,For the hot Sun,HEwell could bear,And now the burning hour was gone,And Evening came, with softer air!The breezes kiss’d his sable breast,While his scorch’d feet the cold dew prest;The waving flow’rs soft tears display’d,And songs of rapture fill’d the glade;The South-wind quiver’d, o’er the streamReflecting back the rosy beam,While, as the purpling twilight clos’d,On a turf bed—the Boy repos’d!II.And now, in fancy’s airy dream,TheLascarBoy his Mother spied;And, from her breast, a crimson streamSlow trickled down her beating side:And now he heard her wild, complain,As loud she shriek’d—but shriek’d in vain!And now she sunk upon the ground,The red stream trickling from her wound,And near her feet a murd’rer stood,His glitt’ring poniard tipp’d with blood!And now, “farewell, my son!” she cried,Then clos’d her fainting eyes—and died!III.The Indian Wand’rer, waking, gaz’dWith grief, and pain, and horror wild;And tho’ his fev’rish brain was craz’d,He rais’d his eyes to Heav’n, and smil’d!And now the stars were twinkling clear,And the blind Bat was whirling near;And the lone Owlet shriek’d, while HeStill sate beneath a shelt’ring tree;And now the fierce-ton’d midnight blastAcross the wide heath, howling past,When a long cavalcade he spiedBy torch-light near the river’s side.IV.He rose, and hast’ning swiftly on,Call’d loudly to the Sumptuous train,—But soon the cavalcade was gone—And darkness wrapp’d the scene again.He follow’d still the distant sound;He saw the lightning flashing round;He heard the crashing thunder roar;He felt the whelming torrents pour;And, now beneath a shelt’ring woodHe listen’d to the tumbling flood—And now, with falt’ring, feeble breath,The famish’dLascar, pray’d for Death.V.And now the flood began to riseAnd foaming rush’d along the vale;TheLascarwatch’d, with stedfast eyes,The flash descending quick and pale;And now again the cavalcadePass’d slowly near the upland glade;—ButHewas dark, and dark the scene,The torches long extinct had been;He call’d, but, in the stormy hour,His feeble voice had lost its pow’r,’Till, near a tree, beside the flood,A night-bewilder’d Trav’ller stood.VI.TheLascarnow with transport ran“Stop! stop!” he cried—with accents bold;The Trav’ller was a fearful man—And next his life he priz’d his gold!—He heard the wand’rer madly cry;He heard his footsteps following nigh;He nothing saw, while onward prest,Black as the sky, the Indian’s breast;’Till his firm grasp he felt, while coldDown his pale cheek the big drop roll’d;Then, struggling to be free, he gave—A deep wound to theLascarSlave.VII.And now he groan’d, by pain opprest,And now crept onward, sad and slow:And while he held his bleeding breast,He feebly pour’d the plaint of woe!“What have I done?” theLascarcried—“That Heaven to me the pow’r denied“To touch the soul of man, and share“A brother’s love, a brother’s care;“Why is this dingy form decreed“To bear oppression’s scourge and bleed?—“Is there aGod, in yon dark Heav’n,“And shall such monsters be forgiv’n?VIII.“Here, in this smiling land we find“Neglect and mis’ry sting our race;“And still, whate’er theLascar’s mind,“The stamp of sorrow marks his face!”He ceas’d to speak; while from his sideFast roll’d life’s swiftly-ebbing tide,And now, though sick and faint was he,He slowly climb’d a tall Elm tree,To watch, if, near his lonely way,Some friendly Cottage lent a ray,A little ray of chearful light,To gild theLascar’s long, long night!IX.And now he hears a distant bell,His heart is almost rent with joy!And who, but such a wretch can tell,The transports of the Indian boy?And higher now he climbs the tree,And hopes some shelt’ring Cot to see;Again he listens, while the pealSeems up the woodland vale to steal;The twinkling stars begin to fade,And dawnlight purples o’er the glade—And while the sev’ring vapours flee,TheLascarboy looks chearfully!X.And now the Sun begins to riseAbove the Eastern summit blue;And o’er the plain the day-breeze flies,And sweetly bloom the fields of dew!The wand’ring wretch was chill’d, for heSate, shiv’ring in the tall Elm tree;And he was faint, and sick, and dry,And bloodshot was his fev’rish eye;And livid was his lip, while heSate silent in the tall Elm tree—And parch’d his tongue; and quick his breath,And his dark cheek, was cold as Death!XI.And now a Cottage low he sees,The chimney smoke, ascending grey,Floats lightly on the morning breezeAnd o’er the mountain glides away.And now the Lark, on flutt’ring wings,Its early Song, delighted sings;And now, across the upland mead,The Swains their flocks to shelter lead;The shelt’ring woods, wave to and fro;The yellow plains, far distant, glow;And all things wake to life and joy,All! but the famish’d Indian Boy!XII.And now the village throngs are seen,Each lane is peopled, and the glenFrom ev’ry op’ning path-way green,Sends forth the busy hum of men.They cross the meads, still, all alone,They hear the woundedLascargroan!Far off they mark the wretch, as heFalls, senseless, from the tall Elm tree!Swiftly they cross the river wideAnd soon they reach the Elm tree’s side,But, ere the sufferer they behold,His wither’d Heart, isDEAD,—andCOLD!

TheLascarBoy still journey’d on,For the hot Sun,HEwell could bear,And now the burning hour was gone,And Evening came, with softer air!The breezes kiss’d his sable breast,While his scorch’d feet the cold dew prest;The waving flow’rs soft tears display’d,And songs of rapture fill’d the glade;The South-wind quiver’d, o’er the streamReflecting back the rosy beam,While, as the purpling twilight clos’d,On a turf bed—the Boy repos’d!

TheLascarBoy still journey’d on,

For the hot Sun,HEwell could bear,

And now the burning hour was gone,

And Evening came, with softer air!

The breezes kiss’d his sable breast,

While his scorch’d feet the cold dew prest;

The waving flow’rs soft tears display’d,

And songs of rapture fill’d the glade;

The South-wind quiver’d, o’er the stream

Reflecting back the rosy beam,

While, as the purpling twilight clos’d,

On a turf bed—the Boy repos’d!

II.

And now, in fancy’s airy dream,TheLascarBoy his Mother spied;And, from her breast, a crimson streamSlow trickled down her beating side:And now he heard her wild, complain,As loud she shriek’d—but shriek’d in vain!And now she sunk upon the ground,The red stream trickling from her wound,And near her feet a murd’rer stood,His glitt’ring poniard tipp’d with blood!And now, “farewell, my son!” she cried,Then clos’d her fainting eyes—and died!

And now, in fancy’s airy dream,

TheLascarBoy his Mother spied;

And, from her breast, a crimson stream

Slow trickled down her beating side:

And now he heard her wild, complain,

As loud she shriek’d—but shriek’d in vain!

And now she sunk upon the ground,

The red stream trickling from her wound,

And near her feet a murd’rer stood,

His glitt’ring poniard tipp’d with blood!

And now, “farewell, my son!” she cried,

Then clos’d her fainting eyes—and died!

III.

The Indian Wand’rer, waking, gaz’dWith grief, and pain, and horror wild;And tho’ his fev’rish brain was craz’d,He rais’d his eyes to Heav’n, and smil’d!And now the stars were twinkling clear,And the blind Bat was whirling near;And the lone Owlet shriek’d, while HeStill sate beneath a shelt’ring tree;And now the fierce-ton’d midnight blastAcross the wide heath, howling past,When a long cavalcade he spiedBy torch-light near the river’s side.

The Indian Wand’rer, waking, gaz’d

With grief, and pain, and horror wild;

And tho’ his fev’rish brain was craz’d,

He rais’d his eyes to Heav’n, and smil’d!

And now the stars were twinkling clear,

And the blind Bat was whirling near;

And the lone Owlet shriek’d, while He

Still sate beneath a shelt’ring tree;

And now the fierce-ton’d midnight blast

Across the wide heath, howling past,

When a long cavalcade he spied

By torch-light near the river’s side.

IV.

He rose, and hast’ning swiftly on,Call’d loudly to the Sumptuous train,—But soon the cavalcade was gone—And darkness wrapp’d the scene again.He follow’d still the distant sound;He saw the lightning flashing round;He heard the crashing thunder roar;He felt the whelming torrents pour;And, now beneath a shelt’ring woodHe listen’d to the tumbling flood—And now, with falt’ring, feeble breath,The famish’dLascar, pray’d for Death.

He rose, and hast’ning swiftly on,

Call’d loudly to the Sumptuous train,—

But soon the cavalcade was gone—

And darkness wrapp’d the scene again.

He follow’d still the distant sound;

He saw the lightning flashing round;

He heard the crashing thunder roar;

He felt the whelming torrents pour;

And, now beneath a shelt’ring wood

He listen’d to the tumbling flood—

And now, with falt’ring, feeble breath,

The famish’dLascar, pray’d for Death.

And now the flood began to riseAnd foaming rush’d along the vale;TheLascarwatch’d, with stedfast eyes,The flash descending quick and pale;And now again the cavalcadePass’d slowly near the upland glade;—ButHewas dark, and dark the scene,The torches long extinct had been;He call’d, but, in the stormy hour,His feeble voice had lost its pow’r,’Till, near a tree, beside the flood,A night-bewilder’d Trav’ller stood.

And now the flood began to rise

And foaming rush’d along the vale;

TheLascarwatch’d, with stedfast eyes,

The flash descending quick and pale;

And now again the cavalcade

Pass’d slowly near the upland glade;—

ButHewas dark, and dark the scene,

The torches long extinct had been;

He call’d, but, in the stormy hour,

His feeble voice had lost its pow’r,

’Till, near a tree, beside the flood,

A night-bewilder’d Trav’ller stood.

VI.

TheLascarnow with transport ran“Stop! stop!” he cried—with accents bold;The Trav’ller was a fearful man—And next his life he priz’d his gold!—He heard the wand’rer madly cry;He heard his footsteps following nigh;He nothing saw, while onward prest,Black as the sky, the Indian’s breast;’Till his firm grasp he felt, while coldDown his pale cheek the big drop roll’d;Then, struggling to be free, he gave—A deep wound to theLascarSlave.

TheLascarnow with transport ran

“Stop! stop!” he cried—with accents bold;

The Trav’ller was a fearful man—

And next his life he priz’d his gold!—

He heard the wand’rer madly cry;

He heard his footsteps following nigh;

He nothing saw, while onward prest,

Black as the sky, the Indian’s breast;

’Till his firm grasp he felt, while cold

Down his pale cheek the big drop roll’d;

Then, struggling to be free, he gave—

A deep wound to theLascarSlave.

VII.

And now he groan’d, by pain opprest,And now crept onward, sad and slow:And while he held his bleeding breast,He feebly pour’d the plaint of woe!“What have I done?” theLascarcried—“That Heaven to me the pow’r denied“To touch the soul of man, and share“A brother’s love, a brother’s care;“Why is this dingy form decreed“To bear oppression’s scourge and bleed?—“Is there aGod, in yon dark Heav’n,“And shall such monsters be forgiv’n?

And now he groan’d, by pain opprest,

And now crept onward, sad and slow:

And while he held his bleeding breast,

He feebly pour’d the plaint of woe!

“What have I done?” theLascarcried—

“That Heaven to me the pow’r denied

“To touch the soul of man, and share

“A brother’s love, a brother’s care;

“Why is this dingy form decreed

“To bear oppression’s scourge and bleed?—

“Is there aGod, in yon dark Heav’n,

“And shall such monsters be forgiv’n?

VIII.

“Here, in this smiling land we find“Neglect and mis’ry sting our race;“And still, whate’er theLascar’s mind,“The stamp of sorrow marks his face!”He ceas’d to speak; while from his sideFast roll’d life’s swiftly-ebbing tide,And now, though sick and faint was he,He slowly climb’d a tall Elm tree,To watch, if, near his lonely way,Some friendly Cottage lent a ray,A little ray of chearful light,To gild theLascar’s long, long night!

“Here, in this smiling land we find

“Neglect and mis’ry sting our race;

“And still, whate’er theLascar’s mind,

“The stamp of sorrow marks his face!”

He ceas’d to speak; while from his side

Fast roll’d life’s swiftly-ebbing tide,

And now, though sick and faint was he,

He slowly climb’d a tall Elm tree,

To watch, if, near his lonely way,

Some friendly Cottage lent a ray,

A little ray of chearful light,

To gild theLascar’s long, long night!

IX.

And now he hears a distant bell,His heart is almost rent with joy!And who, but such a wretch can tell,The transports of the Indian boy?And higher now he climbs the tree,And hopes some shelt’ring Cot to see;Again he listens, while the pealSeems up the woodland vale to steal;The twinkling stars begin to fade,And dawnlight purples o’er the glade—And while the sev’ring vapours flee,TheLascarboy looks chearfully!

And now he hears a distant bell,

His heart is almost rent with joy!

And who, but such a wretch can tell,

The transports of the Indian boy?

And higher now he climbs the tree,

And hopes some shelt’ring Cot to see;

Again he listens, while the peal

Seems up the woodland vale to steal;

The twinkling stars begin to fade,

And dawnlight purples o’er the glade—

And while the sev’ring vapours flee,

TheLascarboy looks chearfully!

And now the Sun begins to riseAbove the Eastern summit blue;And o’er the plain the day-breeze flies,And sweetly bloom the fields of dew!The wand’ring wretch was chill’d, for heSate, shiv’ring in the tall Elm tree;And he was faint, and sick, and dry,And bloodshot was his fev’rish eye;And livid was his lip, while heSate silent in the tall Elm tree—And parch’d his tongue; and quick his breath,And his dark cheek, was cold as Death!

And now the Sun begins to rise

Above the Eastern summit blue;

And o’er the plain the day-breeze flies,

And sweetly bloom the fields of dew!

The wand’ring wretch was chill’d, for he

Sate, shiv’ring in the tall Elm tree;

And he was faint, and sick, and dry,

And bloodshot was his fev’rish eye;

And livid was his lip, while he

Sate silent in the tall Elm tree—

And parch’d his tongue; and quick his breath,

And his dark cheek, was cold as Death!

XI.

And now a Cottage low he sees,The chimney smoke, ascending grey,Floats lightly on the morning breezeAnd o’er the mountain glides away.And now the Lark, on flutt’ring wings,Its early Song, delighted sings;And now, across the upland mead,The Swains their flocks to shelter lead;The shelt’ring woods, wave to and fro;The yellow plains, far distant, glow;And all things wake to life and joy,All! but the famish’d Indian Boy!

And now a Cottage low he sees,

The chimney smoke, ascending grey,

Floats lightly on the morning breeze

And o’er the mountain glides away.

And now the Lark, on flutt’ring wings,

Its early Song, delighted sings;

And now, across the upland mead,

The Swains their flocks to shelter lead;

The shelt’ring woods, wave to and fro;

The yellow plains, far distant, glow;

And all things wake to life and joy,

All! but the famish’d Indian Boy!

XII.

And now the village throngs are seen,Each lane is peopled, and the glenFrom ev’ry op’ning path-way green,Sends forth the busy hum of men.They cross the meads, still, all alone,They hear the woundedLascargroan!Far off they mark the wretch, as heFalls, senseless, from the tall Elm tree!Swiftly they cross the river wideAnd soon they reach the Elm tree’s side,But, ere the sufferer they behold,His wither’d Heart, isDEAD,—andCOLD!

And now the village throngs are seen,

Each lane is peopled, and the glen

From ev’ry op’ning path-way green,

Sends forth the busy hum of men.

They cross the meads, still, all alone,

They hear the woundedLascargroan!

Far off they mark the wretch, as he

Falls, senseless, from the tall Elm tree!

Swiftly they cross the river wide

And soon they reach the Elm tree’s side,

But, ere the sufferer they behold,

His wither’d Heart, isDEAD,—andCOLD!

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