The LASCAR.IN TWO PARTS.

I.“Another day, Ah! me, a day“Of dreary Sorrow is begun!“And still I loathe the temper’d ray,“And still I hate the sickly Sun!“Far from my Native Indian shore,“I hear our wretched race deplore;“I mark the smile of taunting Scorn,“And curse the hour, when I was born!“I weep, but no one gently tries“To stop my tear, or check my sighs;“For, while my heart beats mournfully,“Dear Indian home, I sigh for Thee!II.“Since, gaudy Sun! I see no more“Thy hottest glory gild the day;“Since, sever’d from my burning shore,“I waste the vapid hours away;“O! darkness come! come, deepest gloom!“Shroud the young Summer’s op’ning bloom;“Burn, temper’d Orb, with fiercer beams“This northern world! and drink the streams“That thro’ the fertile vallies glide“To bathe the feasted Fiends of Pride!“Or, hence, broad Sun! extinguish’d be!“For endless night encircles Me!III.“What is, to me, the City gay?“And what, the board profusely spread?“I have no home, no rich array,“No spicy feast, no downy bed!“I, with the dogs am doom’d to eat,“To perish in the peopled street,“To drink the tear of deep despair;“The scoff and scorn of fools to bear!“I sleep upon a bed of stone,“I pace the meadows, wild—alone!“And if I curse my fate severe,“Some Christian Savage mocks my tear!IV.“Shut out the Sun, O! pitying Night!“Make the wide world my silent tomb!“O’ershade this northern, sickly light,“And shroud me, in eternal gloom!“My Indian plains, now smiling glow,“There stands my Parent’s hovel low,“And there the tow’ring aloes rise“And fling their perfumes to the skies!“There the broad palm Trees covert lend,“There Sun and Shade delicious blend;“But here, amid the blunted ray,“Cold shadows hourly cross my way!V.“Was it for this, that on the main“I met the tempest fierce and strong,“And steering o’er the liquid plain,“Still onward, press’d the waves among?“Was it for this, theLascarbrave“Toil’d, like a wretched Indian Slave;“Preserv’d your treasures by his toil,“And sigh’d to greet this fertile soil?“Was it for this, to beg, to die,“Where plenty smiles, and where the Sky“Sheds cooling airs; while fev’rish pain,“Maddens the famish’dLascar’s brain?VI.“Oft, I the stately Camel led,“And sung the short-hour’d night away;“And oft, upon the top-mast’s head,“Hail’d the red Eye of coming day.“The Tanyan’s back my mother bore;“And oft the wavy Ganges’ roar“Lull’d her to rest, as on she past—“’Mid the hot sands and burning blast!“And oft beneath the Banyan tree“She sate and fondly nourish’d me;“And while the noontide hour past slow,“I felt her breast with kindness glow.VII.“Where’er I turn my sleepless eyes,“No cheek so dark as mine, I see;“For Europe’s Suns, with softer dyes“Mark Europe’s favour’d progeny!“Low is my stature, black my hair,“The emblem of my Soul’s despair!“My voice no dulcet cadence flings,“To touch soft pity’s throbbing strings!“Then wherefore cruel Briton, say,“Compel my aching heart to stay?“To-morrow’s Sun—may rise, to see—“The famish’dLascar, blest as thee!”VIII.The morn had scarcely shed its raysWhen, from the City’s din he ran;For he had fasted, four long days,And faint his Pilgrimage began!TheLascar, now, without a friend,—Up the steep hill did slow ascend;Now o’er the flow’ry meadows stole,While pain, and hunger, pinch’d his Soul;And now his fev’rish lip was dried,And burning tears his thirst supply’d,And, ere he saw the Ev’ning close,Far off, the City dimly rose!IX.Again the Summer Sun flam’d highThe plains were golden, far and wide;And fervid was the cloudless sky,And slow the breezes seem’d to glide:The gossamer, on briar and spray,Shone silv’ry in the solar ray;And sparkling dew-drops, falling roundSpangled the hot and thirsty ground;The insect myriads humm’d their tuneTo greet the coming hour of noon,While the poorLascarBoy, in haste,Flew, frantic, o’er the sultry waste.X.And whither could the wand’rer go?Who would receive a stranger poor?Who, when the blasts of night should blow,Would ope to him the friendly door?Alone, amid the race of man,The sad, the fearful alien ran!None would an Indian wand’rer bless;None greet him with the fond caress;None feed him, though with hunger keenHe at the Lordly gate were seen,Prostrate, and humbly forc’d to craveA shelter, for an Indian Slave.XI.The noon-tide Sun, now flaming wide,No cloud its fierce beam shadow’d o’er,But what could worse to him betideThan begging, at the proud man’s door?For clos’d and lofty was the gate,And there, in all the pride of State,A surly Porter turn’d the key,A man of sullen soul was he—His brow was fair; but in his eyeSat pamper’d scorn, and tyranny;And, near him, a fierce mastiff stood,Eager to bathe his fangs in blood.XII.The wearyLascarturn’d away,For trembling fear his heart subdued,And down his cheek the tear would stray,Though burning anguish drank his blood!The angry Mastiff snarl’d, as heTurn’d from the house of luxury;The sultry hour was long, and highThe broad sun flamed athwart the sky—But still a throbbing hope possess’dThe Indian wand’rer’s fev’rish breast,When from the distant dell a soundOf swelling music echo’d round.XIII.It was the church-bell’s merry peal;And now a pleasant house he view’d:And now his heart began to feelAs though, it were not quite subdu’d!No lofty dome, shew’d loftier state,No pamper’d Porter watch’d the gate,No Mastiff, like a tyrant stood,Eager to scatter human blood;Yet the poor Indian wand’rer found,E’en where Religion smil’d around—That tears had little pow’r to speakWhen trembling, on a sable cheek!XIV.With keen reproach, and menace rude,TheLascarBoy away was sent;And now again he seem’d subdu’d,And his soul sicken’d, as he went.Now, on the river’s bank he stood;Now, drank the cool refreshing flood;Again his fainting heart beat high;Again he rais’d his languid eye;Then, from the upland’s sultry side,Look’d back, forgave the wretch, and sigh’d!While the proudPastorbent his wayTo preach ofCharity—andPray!

“Another day, Ah! me, a day“Of dreary Sorrow is begun!“And still I loathe the temper’d ray,“And still I hate the sickly Sun!“Far from my Native Indian shore,“I hear our wretched race deplore;“I mark the smile of taunting Scorn,“And curse the hour, when I was born!“I weep, but no one gently tries“To stop my tear, or check my sighs;“For, while my heart beats mournfully,“Dear Indian home, I sigh for Thee!

“Another day, Ah! me, a day

“Of dreary Sorrow is begun!

“And still I loathe the temper’d ray,

“And still I hate the sickly Sun!

“Far from my Native Indian shore,

“I hear our wretched race deplore;

“I mark the smile of taunting Scorn,

“And curse the hour, when I was born!

“I weep, but no one gently tries

“To stop my tear, or check my sighs;

“For, while my heart beats mournfully,

“Dear Indian home, I sigh for Thee!

II.

“Since, gaudy Sun! I see no more“Thy hottest glory gild the day;“Since, sever’d from my burning shore,“I waste the vapid hours away;“O! darkness come! come, deepest gloom!“Shroud the young Summer’s op’ning bloom;“Burn, temper’d Orb, with fiercer beams“This northern world! and drink the streams“That thro’ the fertile vallies glide“To bathe the feasted Fiends of Pride!“Or, hence, broad Sun! extinguish’d be!“For endless night encircles Me!

“Since, gaudy Sun! I see no more

“Thy hottest glory gild the day;

“Since, sever’d from my burning shore,

“I waste the vapid hours away;

“O! darkness come! come, deepest gloom!

“Shroud the young Summer’s op’ning bloom;

“Burn, temper’d Orb, with fiercer beams

“This northern world! and drink the streams

“That thro’ the fertile vallies glide

“To bathe the feasted Fiends of Pride!

“Or, hence, broad Sun! extinguish’d be!

“For endless night encircles Me!

III.

“What is, to me, the City gay?“And what, the board profusely spread?“I have no home, no rich array,“No spicy feast, no downy bed!“I, with the dogs am doom’d to eat,“To perish in the peopled street,“To drink the tear of deep despair;“The scoff and scorn of fools to bear!“I sleep upon a bed of stone,“I pace the meadows, wild—alone!“And if I curse my fate severe,“Some Christian Savage mocks my tear!

“What is, to me, the City gay?

“And what, the board profusely spread?

“I have no home, no rich array,

“No spicy feast, no downy bed!

“I, with the dogs am doom’d to eat,

“To perish in the peopled street,

“To drink the tear of deep despair;

“The scoff and scorn of fools to bear!

“I sleep upon a bed of stone,

“I pace the meadows, wild—alone!

“And if I curse my fate severe,

“Some Christian Savage mocks my tear!

IV.

“Shut out the Sun, O! pitying Night!“Make the wide world my silent tomb!“O’ershade this northern, sickly light,“And shroud me, in eternal gloom!“My Indian plains, now smiling glow,“There stands my Parent’s hovel low,“And there the tow’ring aloes rise“And fling their perfumes to the skies!“There the broad palm Trees covert lend,“There Sun and Shade delicious blend;“But here, amid the blunted ray,“Cold shadows hourly cross my way!

“Shut out the Sun, O! pitying Night!

“Make the wide world my silent tomb!

“O’ershade this northern, sickly light,

“And shroud me, in eternal gloom!

“My Indian plains, now smiling glow,

“There stands my Parent’s hovel low,

“And there the tow’ring aloes rise

“And fling their perfumes to the skies!

“There the broad palm Trees covert lend,

“There Sun and Shade delicious blend;

“But here, amid the blunted ray,

“Cold shadows hourly cross my way!

“Was it for this, that on the main“I met the tempest fierce and strong,“And steering o’er the liquid plain,“Still onward, press’d the waves among?“Was it for this, theLascarbrave“Toil’d, like a wretched Indian Slave;“Preserv’d your treasures by his toil,“And sigh’d to greet this fertile soil?“Was it for this, to beg, to die,“Where plenty smiles, and where the Sky“Sheds cooling airs; while fev’rish pain,“Maddens the famish’dLascar’s brain?

“Was it for this, that on the main

“I met the tempest fierce and strong,

“And steering o’er the liquid plain,

“Still onward, press’d the waves among?

“Was it for this, theLascarbrave

“Toil’d, like a wretched Indian Slave;

“Preserv’d your treasures by his toil,

“And sigh’d to greet this fertile soil?

“Was it for this, to beg, to die,

“Where plenty smiles, and where the Sky

“Sheds cooling airs; while fev’rish pain,

“Maddens the famish’dLascar’s brain?

VI.

“Oft, I the stately Camel led,“And sung the short-hour’d night away;“And oft, upon the top-mast’s head,“Hail’d the red Eye of coming day.“The Tanyan’s back my mother bore;“And oft the wavy Ganges’ roar“Lull’d her to rest, as on she past—“’Mid the hot sands and burning blast!“And oft beneath the Banyan tree“She sate and fondly nourish’d me;“And while the noontide hour past slow,“I felt her breast with kindness glow.

“Oft, I the stately Camel led,

“And sung the short-hour’d night away;

“And oft, upon the top-mast’s head,

“Hail’d the red Eye of coming day.

“The Tanyan’s back my mother bore;

“And oft the wavy Ganges’ roar

“Lull’d her to rest, as on she past—

“’Mid the hot sands and burning blast!

“And oft beneath the Banyan tree

“She sate and fondly nourish’d me;

“And while the noontide hour past slow,

“I felt her breast with kindness glow.

VII.

“Where’er I turn my sleepless eyes,“No cheek so dark as mine, I see;“For Europe’s Suns, with softer dyes“Mark Europe’s favour’d progeny!“Low is my stature, black my hair,“The emblem of my Soul’s despair!“My voice no dulcet cadence flings,“To touch soft pity’s throbbing strings!“Then wherefore cruel Briton, say,“Compel my aching heart to stay?“To-morrow’s Sun—may rise, to see—“The famish’dLascar, blest as thee!”

“Where’er I turn my sleepless eyes,

“No cheek so dark as mine, I see;

“For Europe’s Suns, with softer dyes

“Mark Europe’s favour’d progeny!

“Low is my stature, black my hair,

“The emblem of my Soul’s despair!

“My voice no dulcet cadence flings,

“To touch soft pity’s throbbing strings!

“Then wherefore cruel Briton, say,

“Compel my aching heart to stay?

“To-morrow’s Sun—may rise, to see—

“The famish’dLascar, blest as thee!”

VIII.

The morn had scarcely shed its raysWhen, from the City’s din he ran;For he had fasted, four long days,And faint his Pilgrimage began!TheLascar, now, without a friend,—Up the steep hill did slow ascend;Now o’er the flow’ry meadows stole,While pain, and hunger, pinch’d his Soul;And now his fev’rish lip was dried,And burning tears his thirst supply’d,And, ere he saw the Ev’ning close,Far off, the City dimly rose!

The morn had scarcely shed its rays

When, from the City’s din he ran;

For he had fasted, four long days,

And faint his Pilgrimage began!

TheLascar, now, without a friend,—

Up the steep hill did slow ascend;

Now o’er the flow’ry meadows stole,

While pain, and hunger, pinch’d his Soul;

And now his fev’rish lip was dried,

And burning tears his thirst supply’d,

And, ere he saw the Ev’ning close,

Far off, the City dimly rose!

IX.

Again the Summer Sun flam’d highThe plains were golden, far and wide;And fervid was the cloudless sky,And slow the breezes seem’d to glide:The gossamer, on briar and spray,Shone silv’ry in the solar ray;And sparkling dew-drops, falling roundSpangled the hot and thirsty ground;The insect myriads humm’d their tuneTo greet the coming hour of noon,While the poorLascarBoy, in haste,Flew, frantic, o’er the sultry waste.

Again the Summer Sun flam’d high

The plains were golden, far and wide;

And fervid was the cloudless sky,

And slow the breezes seem’d to glide:

The gossamer, on briar and spray,

Shone silv’ry in the solar ray;

And sparkling dew-drops, falling round

Spangled the hot and thirsty ground;

The insect myriads humm’d their tune

To greet the coming hour of noon,

While the poorLascarBoy, in haste,

Flew, frantic, o’er the sultry waste.

And whither could the wand’rer go?Who would receive a stranger poor?Who, when the blasts of night should blow,Would ope to him the friendly door?Alone, amid the race of man,The sad, the fearful alien ran!None would an Indian wand’rer bless;None greet him with the fond caress;None feed him, though with hunger keenHe at the Lordly gate were seen,Prostrate, and humbly forc’d to craveA shelter, for an Indian Slave.

And whither could the wand’rer go?

Who would receive a stranger poor?

Who, when the blasts of night should blow,

Would ope to him the friendly door?

Alone, amid the race of man,

The sad, the fearful alien ran!

None would an Indian wand’rer bless;

None greet him with the fond caress;

None feed him, though with hunger keen

He at the Lordly gate were seen,

Prostrate, and humbly forc’d to crave

A shelter, for an Indian Slave.

XI.

The noon-tide Sun, now flaming wide,No cloud its fierce beam shadow’d o’er,But what could worse to him betideThan begging, at the proud man’s door?For clos’d and lofty was the gate,And there, in all the pride of State,A surly Porter turn’d the key,A man of sullen soul was he—His brow was fair; but in his eyeSat pamper’d scorn, and tyranny;And, near him, a fierce mastiff stood,Eager to bathe his fangs in blood.

The noon-tide Sun, now flaming wide,

No cloud its fierce beam shadow’d o’er,

But what could worse to him betide

Than begging, at the proud man’s door?

For clos’d and lofty was the gate,

And there, in all the pride of State,

A surly Porter turn’d the key,

A man of sullen soul was he—

His brow was fair; but in his eye

Sat pamper’d scorn, and tyranny;

And, near him, a fierce mastiff stood,

Eager to bathe his fangs in blood.

XII.

The wearyLascarturn’d away,For trembling fear his heart subdued,And down his cheek the tear would stray,Though burning anguish drank his blood!The angry Mastiff snarl’d, as heTurn’d from the house of luxury;The sultry hour was long, and highThe broad sun flamed athwart the sky—But still a throbbing hope possess’dThe Indian wand’rer’s fev’rish breast,When from the distant dell a soundOf swelling music echo’d round.

The wearyLascarturn’d away,

For trembling fear his heart subdued,

And down his cheek the tear would stray,

Though burning anguish drank his blood!

The angry Mastiff snarl’d, as he

Turn’d from the house of luxury;

The sultry hour was long, and high

The broad sun flamed athwart the sky—

But still a throbbing hope possess’d

The Indian wand’rer’s fev’rish breast,

When from the distant dell a sound

Of swelling music echo’d round.

XIII.

It was the church-bell’s merry peal;And now a pleasant house he view’d:And now his heart began to feelAs though, it were not quite subdu’d!No lofty dome, shew’d loftier state,No pamper’d Porter watch’d the gate,No Mastiff, like a tyrant stood,Eager to scatter human blood;Yet the poor Indian wand’rer found,E’en where Religion smil’d around—That tears had little pow’r to speakWhen trembling, on a sable cheek!

It was the church-bell’s merry peal;

And now a pleasant house he view’d:

And now his heart began to feel

As though, it were not quite subdu’d!

No lofty dome, shew’d loftier state,

No pamper’d Porter watch’d the gate,

No Mastiff, like a tyrant stood,

Eager to scatter human blood;

Yet the poor Indian wand’rer found,

E’en where Religion smil’d around—

That tears had little pow’r to speak

When trembling, on a sable cheek!

XIV.

With keen reproach, and menace rude,TheLascarBoy away was sent;And now again he seem’d subdu’d,And his soul sicken’d, as he went.Now, on the river’s bank he stood;Now, drank the cool refreshing flood;Again his fainting heart beat high;Again he rais’d his languid eye;Then, from the upland’s sultry side,Look’d back, forgave the wretch, and sigh’d!While the proudPastorbent his wayTo preach ofCharity—andPray!

With keen reproach, and menace rude,

TheLascarBoy away was sent;

And now again he seem’d subdu’d,

And his soul sicken’d, as he went.

Now, on the river’s bank he stood;

Now, drank the cool refreshing flood;

Again his fainting heart beat high;

Again he rais’d his languid eye;

Then, from the upland’s sultry side,

Look’d back, forgave the wretch, and sigh’d!

While the proudPastorbent his way

To preach ofCharity—andPray!

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