Lo! as he stood amongst the heaps of dead,
He saw a fainting ruffian where he bled.
There sad he met the cruel HAWKINS' son,
Large, painful drops from all his members run;
An arrow's head still rooted in his wound,
The crimson blood in circles mark'd the ground;
His fainting groans confess'd his mighty smart,
Weak were his cries, and panting was his heart:
The day before, all wounded as he fled,

He fell, and falling, mingled with the dead.
Mov'd with kind pity and pathetic woe,

He in the wretched man forgets the foe;
Divine compassion touch'd LOUVERTURE'S, breast,
Who sighing, thus his bleeding foe address'd;
"Ah hapless leader of the Christian host,
Thus must you perish on a foreign coast;

Is this your fate, to glut the beasts with gore,
Far from your friends and from your native shore?
Unhappy man, doom'd thus to die with shame,
End thus the period of your life and fame."
The foe looks wishfully, no word he said,

With tears, 'twas all he could, the robber pray'd;
He lifts his hands, the tears pour down amain,
As he lay languid on the crimson plain:
Thrice, full of pain, he strove in vain to say,
Thrice op'd his lips, but not a word found way.
The prince still view'd the fainting chief with woe,
While down his cheeks celestial sorrows flow,
And thus he spoke : "Then what remains to do?
Th' events of things kind Jove alone can view;
Charg'd with my father's care, with speed I fly,
To hear my father's friend, QUACO's reply;
But thy distress this instant claims relief,”
He said and in his arms upheld the chief;

}

His guards the prince's slow approach survey'd,
A lion's hide they on the ground display'd;
There stretch'd at length the wounded ruffian lay,
LOUVERTURE cut the poison'd steel away :
Then in his hand a bitter root he bruis'd,
The wound he suck'd, the styptic juice infus'd;
The closing flesh that instant ceas'd to glow,
The wound to torture, and the blood to flow.
Then to the guards the godlike hero said,
"Lo! now I go beyond yon heaps of dead,
To meet our chieftains near the silent wood,
You nourish the poor man with wine and food;
What for yourselves you'd want, provide for him,
To Jove we owe this, and our fellow-men;
By Jove the wretched and the poor are sent,
To try our hearts, relent then, guards relent,
For know what you now give to Jove is lent.
What for ourselves we can is always ours,
This night let due repast refresh his pow'rs;
For strength consists in spirits and in blood,
And those are ow'd to gen'rous wine and food.
With lukewarm water wash his gore away,
With healing balms his raging smart allay :
And thou, poor Christian, thus consum'd with woe,
The anxious cares that nourish grief, forego;
Steep'd in thy blood, and in the dust outspread,
Thou ly'st neglected on the piles of dead;
None by to weep thee, to relieve thee none,
Were we like Christians turn'd to flinty stone!
My poor, unhappy, tho' my guilty foe,
We feel your grief, sad monument of woe;
We feel your grief, while tears unbidden flow,
Since Jove impels us thus our grace to give.
Then share our bounty and consent to live,

}

Relieve him guards, I charge you, and relent,
We'll want perhaps, the succour we have lent;
Relieve him till the messenger of day
Strikes the blue mountains with her golden ray."
The hero said, and strode in haste away.
Precipitate he goes, the sage he found,
Stretch'd on a lion's spoils, his men around,
And leaning on his hand his watchful head,
The hoary warrior rub'd his eyes, and said.
"Who art thou, speak, that on designs unknown,
(While others sleep, thus range the field alone;
Seek'st thou some friend or nightly centinel ?
Stand off, approach not, but thy purpose tell."
"Ah! rev'rend QUACO, (thus the prince rejoin'd,)
Pride of my sire, and glory of thy kind,

}

Lo! here thy wretched prince LOUVERTURE stands,
Th' unhappy leader of my father's bands:

My sire whom heav'n decrees with woes to bend,
And grief that only with his life can end;
Scarce can his knees his trembling frame sustain,
Scarce can his heart support its load of pain;
No taste of sleep my heavy eyes have known,
For him, all sad, I wander thus alone,
By day I fight, by night I make my moan;
With fears distracted, with no fix'd design,
And all his people's miseries are mine."

}

He spake; tears pour amain and stop'd the chief,
With solemn sadness and majestic grief;
Prop'd on his spear he feels his father's woe,
Down his black cheeks the briny torrents flow.
So silent fountains from a rock's tall head,
In sable streams soft trickling waters, shed,
With more than vulgar grief he stood oppress'd,

Words mix'd with sighs again break from his breast.
"If aught of use thy waking thoughts suggest,
Since care like mine deprive my soul of rest,
Impart thy council and assist thy friend,
And let us jointly to our chiefs descend;
At ev'ry post the fainting guards excite,
Tir'd with the toils of day, and watch of night:
Else may the sudden foe our town invade,
So near, and favour'd by the midnight shade."
To him thus QUACO," Trust the pow'rs above,
Nor think proud HAWKINS' hopes confirm'd by Jove,
All gracious, just, beneficent and kind,

To all, but most to suff'ring human kind;
He sees our sov'reign's wrongs, your misery,
He sees, but not without kind sympathy:
How ill agree the views of vain mankind,
And the wise councils of th' eternal mind.
Lo! faithful QUACO thy command obeys,
Thy care is next, our other chiefs to raise
To rouse MONDINGO I myself decree,
Dear as he is to us, and dear to thee;

Yet must I tax his sloth, that claims no share,
With his great brother in his mortal care;
Him it behov'd to ev'ry chief to sue,
Preventing ev'ry part perform'd by you."

To whom the prince," With rev'rence we allow
Thy just reproofs, yet learn to spare them now;
My gen'rous brother is of gentler kind,
He seems remiss, but bears a valiant mind;
Thro' too much def'rence to his brother's sway,
Content to follow when we lead the way :-
Early he sought me thro' the purple plain,
And now convenes our chiefs of ancient fame."
The lion's skin the sage then round him spread,

The teeth grin'd dreadful at his hoary head,

And march'd with caution thro' the sleeping crowd,
They stop'd where KIMBO slept, and call'd aloud.
Fierce KIMBO sudden as the voice was sent,
Awakes, starts up, and to the heroes went :

"What new distress, what sudden cause of fright,
Thus leads you wand'ring thro' the shades of night.”
"Oh! valiant chief, (the prudent sage reply'd,)
Brave as thou art, be now thy valour try'd ;
Whatever means of safety can be sought,
Whatever councils can inspire our thought,
Whatever methods, or to fly, or fight,
All, all depend on this important night."
He heard, return'd, and took his thirsty spear,
Then join❜d the chiefs, and follow'd void of fear.
They now approach a chief of glorious fame,
MONDINGO's uncle, SAMBO was his name;

A grove of spears stood round him fix'd upright.

Shot from their deathful points a quiv'ring light.
A bear's black hide compos'd the chieftain's bed,
A wolf's gray spoils was roll'd beneath his head.
Now with his foot, old quaco gently shakes
The slumb'ring chief, and in these words, awakes:
"Rise, valiant SAMBO, to the bold and strong
Rest seems ingloricus, and the night too long;
But sleep'st thou now, when from yon ships the foe
Threatens our nation with impending woe ?"
The hero heard, and hearing, rais'd his head,
That moment slumber from his eyelids fled,
The warrior saw the hoary chief and said,
"Wond'rous old man, whose soul no respite knows,
Tho' years and honours bid thee seek repose ;
Let younger chiefs our sleeping warriors wake,
Ill fits thy age these toils to undertake."

}