A fierce blood-thirsty, hypocritic band. * Brave officers, (he cries) let each contend, Nor seek no respite till the shades descend ; Till darkness, or till death shall cover all, Let the war bleed, and let the negroes fall: Who dares inglorious in his ships to stay, Who dares to linger on this signal day, That wretch, too mean to fall by mortal pow'r, The birds shall mangle, and the dogs devour: Then seize the occasion, now your foes survey, And lead to war, since heav'n directs the way; His sep'rate troops let ev'ry captain call, Each strengthen each, and all encourage all. Forget brave boys what seem'd your dread before, The fierce, the raging princes fight no more." Rous'd at his words, all wedg'd in firm array, Straight to the town th' assassins urge their way : Not fiercer rush along the gloomy wood, With rage insatiate, and with thirst of blood, Voracious hounds, that many a length before Urg'd by fierce hunters drove the wounded boar. Their polish'd falchions glitter in the air, As round the rampart rose the furious war. Less fierce the winds with rising flames conspire, To whelm some city under waves of fire; Now sink in gloomy clouds each bright abode, Of princes, with the churches of their God; The rumbling torrent thro' the ruin rolls, And sheets of smoke rise heavy to the poles. The ruffians thus rush to the town, and slay The sable citizens that cross their way; Some hurl the hissing dart, the jav❜lins fly, In iron clouds, that blot the golden sky; But to complete and aggravate their fears,

A new mischance involv'd the town in tears:
For when the wretched queen beheld on high,
The clouds of jav'lins intercept the sky;
Her sons destroy'd, the shouting tyrants near,
Nor brave MONDINGO in the fight appear,
Many a look she cast, but cast in vain,

And lo! the dame concludes MONDINGO slain;
She raves against the heav'ns in wild despair,
And curses all the authors of the war;
A thousand plaints she vented o'er and o'er,
And in her rage her royal garment tore;
In agonies of dreadful grief she tears
Her languid, tearful cheeks, and sable hairs
She hates in madness of extreme despair,
To view the light, or breathe the vital air;
Deep from her heaving sable bosom broke
A deep, deep groan, and thus the mother spoke;
"Alas! my sons are murder'd in the fight,
They're gone, and yet I view the glorious light,
But soon I'll leave it, for I loathe the sight.
I'll

go, I'll go, this moment I will go,
T'embrace my dear, dear boys, in shades below."
Then on a lofty beam the matron ty❜d
The noose dishonest, and obscenely dy'd.
Meanwhile a peal of groans to heav'n arise,
Confusion, clamours, thicken in the skies,
'Tis tumult all, for all at once advise.
Some t' implore the Christians' pity bring
Ey'n to the plain, the helpless, hoary king;
The poor old man moves slow, his body bent,
Propp'd on his staffs, and shaking as he went;
His head all naked, and his silver hairs,

And thus to heav'n he sends his tender pray'rs :
66. Oh, Jove! if still thy eyes with wonted grace,

}

Behold the miserable mortal race,
Suppress our foes, forbid them to destroy
My last, my brave, my poor unhappy boy,
My dear, dear people's liberty and joy;
And if our crimes, almighty sire, demand
The last, last veng'ance of thy dreadful hand,
On me, and me alone, that veng❜ance shed,
And with thy level'd thunder strike me dead."
Majestic in distress, the sire moves slow,
While down his furrow'd cheeks the sorrows flow,
And silver beard, white as the winter snow.

}

}

He approach'd the Christian chiefs and bow'd his head
Prostrate in dust before proud LECERC laid;
Sudden the agonizing sire appears,

Embrac❜d his knees, and bath'd his hand in tears;
Those direful hands his kisses press'd, embru'd
Ev'n with the best, the dearest of his blood!
As when a wretch, who conscious of his crime,
Pursu'd for murder, flees his native clime;
Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amaz'd÷
All gaze, all wonder, thus the Christians gaz'd
Thus stood the soldiers, stupid with surprise,
All mute, but seem'd to question with their eyes f
Each look'd on other, none the silence broke,
Till thus at length, the kingly suppliant spoke:
Think of thy father, and this face behold;
See him in me, as helpless and as old;
Tho' not so wretched, there he yields to me,
The first of men in sovʼreign misery.

Thus forc'd to kneel, thus grov'ling to embrace
The scourge and ruin of my realm and race:
Suppliant my children's murd'rer to implore,
And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore.
No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain,
The best the bravest of my sons are slain.

For my poor people now, I've bent my way,
For them, thus prostrate at thy feet I lay;

Large gifts proportion'd to thy wrath I'll bear,
Oh! hear the wretched, and the heav'ns revere.
For my poor people, not myself I pray;
Save them, and thus save me from misery.
Oh let me die for them, thus peace restore,
Take all our riches, and I ask no more.”

The father of his people, spoke with woe,
While from his eyes parental sorrows flow;
His words soft pity in the chief inspire,
Touch'd with the fond remembrance of his sire;
Then with his hand as prostrate still he lay,
The old man's cheek he gently turn'd away;
The rev'rend monarch by the hand he rais'd,
On his white beard and form majestic gaz'd;
Not unrelenting then serene began,

With words to soothe the miserable man:
"Alas! what weight of anguish hast thou known
Unhappy king, thus guardless and alone,
To pass thro' foes and thus undaunted face,
The men whose fury has destroy'd thy race;
Heav'n sure has arm'd thee with a heart of steel,
A strength proportion'd to the woes you feel!
Rise then, let reason mitigate thy care,
To mourn avails not; man is born to bear ;
The happiest taste not happiness sincere,
But find the cordial draught is dash'd with care;
What must be, must be; bear thy lot, nor shed
Those unavailing sorrows o'er the dead;
Thou cans't not call them from th' eternal shore,
But thou, alas! may live to suffer more."
Then lo! the weeping king to HAWKINS cries,
"Here let me die, since poor LOUVERTURE lies
Now in the town, depriv'd of obsequies.

}

Alas! he's slain beneath thy soldiers' steel,
Unhappy in his country's cause he fell ;
Ah! pity my poor people, peace restore,
Take all our riches, and I ask no more;
So shall thy pity and forbearance give
A weak old man to see the light and live."
He stands inflexible to pray'rs and tears,
For guilt and Satan stopp'd the monster's ears.
As o'er th' ærial Alps, sublimely spread,
Some aged oak uprears his rev'rend head,
This way and that the furious tempests blow,
To lay the monarch of the mountains low;
Th' imperial plant, tho' nodding at the sound,
Tho' all his scatter'd honors strew the ground,
Safe in his strength, and seated in the rock,
In naked majesty defies the shock;
High as the head shoots tow'ring to the skies,
So deep the root in hell's foundation lies.
Thus is the chief besieg'd with moving pray'rs,
Nor will his heart relent at moving tears;
The monster rais'd his sword prepar'd to wound,
He kiss'd his feet extended on the ground:
"Move me no more (the Christian thus replies,
While kindling anger sparkled in his eyes ;)
Release my knees, thy suppliant arts give o'er,
Thy blood, thy blood, shall drench the purple shore,
Thee and thy sons shall glut the dogs with gore."
He said, and while the king prepar'd to say,
The ruthless sabre lopp'd his head away;
As when the bolt red hissing from above,
Darts on the aged oak or sylvan grove,
The monarch oak in flaming ruin lies,
Black from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise;
Stiff with amaze the pale beholders stand,