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Then he beheld his belt a glorious prey,
And from his body tore the prize away;
In this rich belt with golden dust inlaid,
Her utmost art his mother had display'd.
This spoil proud WILLMORE views with joyful eyes,
He wears, and glories in the glitt❜ring prize,
Thus man too haughty in a prosp❜rous state,
Grows blind, and heedless of his future fate.
The time will come, when wILLMORE in dismay
Shall mourn these spoils, and this triumphant day;
His eyes shall shed, for what he proudly bears,
And for young LANGO's blood, a sea of tears;
Shall wish, too late, the golden belt unsought,
And curse the trophies he so dearly bought.
Thus he, while brave LOUVERTURE on the plain,
Fought three fierce squadrons of the Christian train ;
Their chiefs he slaughter'd, and their ranks he tore,
And dy'd his jav'lin red with Christians' gore:
Full fifty soldiers trembling with their fear,
Rush'd to the painted ships and panted there;
Some quiv'ring fight, some from the combat ran,
While others stood, a host against a man.
Here haughty cOSGROVE dy'd; the dart was flung,
Where the knit nerves and pliant elbows strung;
He drop'd his arm an unassailing weight,
And stood oppress'd with fear, expecting fate;
Full on his neck the glittering faulchion sped,
And from his spangled shoulders lopp'd his head;
Forth from the bone the spinal marrow flies,
In dust and blood the corpse extended lies.
Now lo! his brother springs in arms, to dare
The brave LOUVERTURE in the horrid war:
Grief edg'd his sword, and drove him on the foe,
While down his cheeks, fraternal sorrows flow:

Young, bold and haughty, CORNISH was his name, He lately left his own paternal plain

And weeping parents, in pursuit of fame.

On him LOUVERTURE rush'd; he void of fear,
Beheld the chieftain shake his glitt'ring spear.
Near as he drew the hero' thus began,
"What art thou? boldest of the race of man,
Who, or from whence? unhappy is the sire,
Whose son encounters our resistless ire."
He spoke, and speaking sent his whizzing spear,
The tyrant's quiv'ring limbs confess'd his fear.
The thirsty weapon swift as lightning flies,
But miss'd the foe, and sung along the skies;
Deep in a distant hill was driv'n the spear,
Up to the middle, and stood quiv'ring there :
Then from his spangled belt LOUVERTURE drew
His sword, and firmly on the ruffian flew ;
The foe oppress'd with agonizing fears,
Spreads forth his hands with eloquence of tears:
"A guilty foe, intrepid warrior, see,

Now supplicates, and trembles at thy knee,
Some pity to a penitent afford,

And sheath that all destroying, dreadful sword."
With gen'rous woe the gracious hero heard
That instant sheathed his terrific sword,
Raises the prostrate foe, his fears controul,
While down his cheek a tear unbidden stole.
Now, by spectators, not the voice of fame,
To the mild prince the mournful tidings came,
That his own LANGO by WILLMORE was slain.
The valiant warrior heard with silent woe,
From his bright eyes the tears began to flow;
Big with his mighty grief he strove to say,
What anguish dictates, but no words found way.

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And while the tears stood trembling in his eyes,
Towards the youth precipitate he flies;
With his huge trusty spear without delay,
Thro' bleeding ranks he clears an ample way.
As when a torrent swell'd with wintry rains,
Pours from the mountains o'er the delug'd plains,
And pines, and oaks, from their foundation torn,
A country's ruins to the seas are borne.
LOUVERTURE thus o'erwhelms the yielding throng,
Soldiers and gen'rals roll in heaps along.

Loud clamors tell his progress thro' the plain,
While with quick pace he bounds o'er hills of slain.
So stalks the lordly savage of the plain,
In sullen majesty, and stern disdain ;
In vain loud mastiffs bay him from afar,
And shepherd's gall him with an iron war;
Regardless, furious, he pursues his way,

He foams, he roars, he rends the trembling prey.
Thee, WILLMORE, thee he seeks thro' all the plain,
Proud of the spoils of hapless LANGO slain ;
Thy eyes shall shed with agonizing fears,
For ev'ry drop of blood, a sea of tears.
His filial love, the sire, the son, combin'd
Past friendship, all, come rushing in his mind;
He rush'd impetuous where his brother lay,
That instant all the ruffians fled away.
As when some huntsman with a flying spear,
From the blind thicket wounds a stately deer,
Down his left side, while fresh the blood distils,
He bounds aloft, and scuds from hills, to hills,
Till life's warm vapor issuing thro' the wound,
Wild mountain wolves the fainting beast surround;
Just as their jaws his prostrate limbs invade,
The lion rushes thro' the woodland shade;

H

The wolves, tho' hungry, scour dispers'd away,
The lordly savage vindicates his prey.

Thus flee the ruffians when the prince appears,
Then his brave chiefs crowd round the corpse in tears;
But chief LOUVERTURE bending down his head,
Pours groans and sorrows o'er the hapless dead;
He saw his gaping wounds, receiv'd in fight,
He saw his wounds, and sicken'd at the sight;
Whom late he lively saw, now lifeless found,
Mangled and gash'd with many a dreadful wound.
How chang'd brave LANGO, who, alas! so late
Sent arrows at the foe, and scatter'd fate !
High o'er the slain the great LOUVERTURE stands,
Begirt with chieftains and surrounding bands;
He spoke aloud while all the host attends :
“Chieftains and leaders! countrymen and friends!
Veng'ance, (he cries, and lifts his sable hands,)
Veng'ance (he cries) on all the Christian bands;
But what is veng'ance, glory, joy, to me,

Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee?
My dear, dear LANGO, death has seal'd thy eyes,
Unwept, unhonor'd, uninterr'd, he lies;
Can his dear image from my soul depart,
Long as the vital spirit moves my heart?
If in the melancholy shades below

The flames of friends and brothers cease to glow,
Yet mine shall sacred last, mine undecay'd,
Burn on thro' death, and animate my shade.
Thus to thy father's arms, must thou retire,
Brave youth, the grief and glory of thy sire!
Oh! early lost, with strength and beauty grac'd,
This thy first morning's warfare, is thy last.
Yet didst thou scatter death thro' half an host,
And e'er thy own, twice fifty lives were lost.

Alas dear youth !" now tears descend anew,
Tears bathe the corpse, and tears the wounds bedew.
As a poor father, helpless and undone,

Mourns o'er the ashes of an only son;

Takes a sad pleasure, the last bones to burn,
And pours in tears, e'er yet they shut the urn.
Thus he, while to the mother's ears had fled,
The fatal news that her dear child was dead;
The vital warmth her trembling frame forsook,
She heard, and when she heard, with horror shook :
That instant from the town she screaming flies,
While floods of tears stream copious from her eyes,
Breaks thro' the foremost ranks in wild despair,
Nor heeds the spears, nor dangers of the war,
And as thro' cleaving ranks with shrieks she flies,
Thus with unutterable grief she cries:
"And is it thus the comfort of my years,

Thus, thus, my darling LANGO thus appears?
Ah! could'st thou fly, my child to certain harms;
To death, ah, cruel! from thy mother's arms?
So fond a mother, nor thy purpose tell,
Nor let me take my last, my sad farewel?
A prey to beasts, thy head and body lies,
And ev'ry bird that wings the golden skies;
Nor did thy mother close thy eyes in death,
Compose thy limbs, nor catch the parting breath,
Nor bathe thy wounds, nor cleanse away the gore,
Nor throw the rich, the beauteous mantle o'er
The work that charm'd the cares of age away,
My task all night, my labor all the day.
Where shall I find thee now thro' all the plains,
Thy mangled members and thy dear remains?
How on thy face these longing eyes I fed,

How oft embrac'd; but now my child is dead ↳