Selected Poems of Bernard Barton, the 'Quaker Poet'. Christopher Stokes W.

MY LUCY

      “No idly-feign’d poetic pains

      My sad love-lorn lamentings claim;

      No shepherd’s pipe, Arcadian strains;

      No fabled tortures, quaint and tame:

      The plighted faith; the mutual flame;

      The oft attested pow’rs above:

      The promis’d father’s tender name:

      These were the pledges of my love!”

      Burns.

      Oh, Thou! from earth for ever fled!

      Whose reliques lie among the dead

      With daisied verdure overspread,

      My Lucy!

      For many a weary month gone by, 5

      How many a solitary sigh

      I’ve heav’d for thee, no longer nigh,

      My Lucy!

      And if to grieve I cease awhile,

      I look for that enchanting smile 10

      Which all my cares could once beguile,

      My Lucy!

      But ah! in vain. The blameless art,

      Which sooth’d to peace my troubled heart,

      Is lost with thee, my better part! 15

      My Lucy!

      Thy converse innocently free,

      That bade the fiends of fancy flee—

      ’Tis there I find the want of thee,

      My Lucy! 20

      Nor is it for myself alone,

      That I thy early death bemoan:

      Our infant now is all my own,

      My Lucy!

      Couldst thou a guardian angel prove 25

      To the dear offspring of our love,

      Until it reach the realms above,

      My Lucy!

      Could thy angelic spirit stray,

      Unseen companion of my way, 30

      As onward drags the weary day,

      My Lucy!

      And, when the midnight hour shall close

      My eyes in short unsound repose,

      Couldst thou but whisper off my woes, 35

      My Lucy!

      Then, though thy loss I must deplore

      Till next we meet to part no more,

      I’d wait the grasp that from me tore

      My Lucy! 40

      For, be my life but spent like thine,

      With joy shall I that life resign,

      And fly to thee, for ever mine,

      My Lucy!

       STANZAS ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE

       Respectfully Inscrib’d to the Members of the African Institution

      Again the rapid flight of time brings round

      The sacred hour to virtue justly dear:

      My muse! commemorate, with joyful sound,

      An hour which unborn ages shall revere.

      E’en that glad hour which wip’d the bitter tear 5

      From Afric’s cheek, and cast her chains away:

      Freedom, humanity, and justice, hear!

      To you I dedicate this votive lay,

      And consecrate to you this ever glorious day.

      All hail, ye heavenly band! your holy fire 10

      Inflam’d with virtuous ardour Clarkson’s breast;

      Awoke that zeal which labour ne’er could tire,

      Danger affright, nor av’rice lull to rest.

      He saw poor Afric’s sable sons opprest;

      Saw them, transported from their native shore, 15

      Meet stern-eyed death in all his horrors drest,

      Or life more horrible than death deplore.

      Such were the scenes he saw—scenes we behold no more.

      Clarkson! and Wilberforce! thrice honour’d names!

      Ye shine conspicuous ’mid that chosen band, 20

      Whose steady zeal a nation’s reverence claims,

      Whose generous labours have redeem’d the land.

      And could a humble poet’s trembling hand

      Present to merit half the tribute due,

      Thy name, illustrious Gloster! forth should stand 25

      Amid the bold disinterested few,

      Who prejudice defied, and spurn’d her venal crew.

      Among the hosts who hail with just applause

      This joyful hour, my partial eyes survey

      A sect, whose ardent zeal in virtue’s cause, 30

      Prompts me the tribute of respect to pay.

      Ye Friends of Peace! to you this glorious day

      Is doubly sanctified, is doubly dear;

      On Afric’s shores no more shall martial fray

      Infringe that sacred law your souls revere; 35

      But strife and war shall cease, and happier days appear.

      On Guinea’s coast, where once the shriek of wo

      Proclaim’d the reign of anguish and despair;

      Where avarice sunk the man the brute below,

      And christian monsters mock’d the captive’s prayer; 40

      A different aspect shall that region wear:

      There scenes of bliss shall once more greet the eye;

      The festive song the evening gale shall bear

      In broken accents to the distant sky—

      Blest sounds of peaceful mirth, and village revelry. 45

      O Thou! whose sceptre sways this earthly ball,

      This trivial atom in creation’s round;

      “Who seest with equal eye as God of all,”

      A Negro fetter’d, or a Monarch crown’d:

      O Thou! whose power and goodness none can bound, 50

      Heal Afric’s wrongs, and pardon Europe’s crime;

      Proclaim through torrid wastes that joyful sound,

      Which Jordan’s vallies heard in earlier time:

      Salvation’s gladdening voice, and Gospel truths sublime!

      E’en while I sing, behold! a beam of light 55

      Shines tremulously o’er my raptur’d mind,

      Foreboding that the soul’s protracted night

      Shall,