THE FIRST MARTYR.

My five-years' darling, on my knee, Chattered and toyed and laughed with me: "Now tell me, mother mine," quoth she,

"Where you went i' the afternoon."

"Alas! my pretty little life,

I went to see a sorrowing wife,

Who will be widowed soon."

"Now, mother, what is that?" she said, With wondering eyes and restless head: "Will, then, her husband soon be dead? Tell me, why must he die?

Is he like flowers the frost doth sear,

Or like the birds, that, every year,

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Melt back into the sky?"

No, love the flowers may bloom their time,

The birdlings sing their merry chime,

Till bids them seek another clime

The Winter sharp and cold;

But he who waits with fettered limb,
Nor God nor Nature sends for him,-

He is not weak nor old.

"He lies upon a prison bed

With sabre gashes on his head;

And one short month will see him led

Where Vengeance wields the sword.

Then shall his form be lifted high,

And strangled in the public eye

With horrible accord."

"But, mother, say, what has he done? Has he not robbed or murdered one?"

"My darling, he has injured none.

To free the wretched slaves

He led a band of chosen men,

Brave, but too few; made captives then, And doomed to felon graves."

"O mother! let us go this day To that sad prison, far away; The cruel governor we'll pray

To unloose the door so stout.

Some comfort we can bring him, sure:

And is he locked up so secure,

We could not get him out?"

“No, darling: he is closely kept."

Then nearer to my heart she crept,

And, hiding there her beauty, wept

For human misery.

Child! it is fit that thou shouldst weep;

The very babe unborn would leap
To rescue such as he.

O babe unborn! O future race!
Heir of our glory and disgrace,

We cannot see thy veilèd face;

But shouldst thou keep our crime,

No new Apocalypse need say

In what wild woe shall pass away

The falsehood of the time.

APRIL 19.

A SPASM o'er my heart

Sweeps like a burning flood;

A sentence rings upon mine ears,
Avenge the guiltless blood!

Sit not in health and ease,

Nor reckon loss nor gain,

When men who bear our country's flag

Are set upon and slain,

Not by mistaken hearts

With long oppression wrung,

Filled with great thoughts that ripen late,

And madden, when they're young.

The murderer's wicked lust

Their righteous steps withstood;

The zeal that thieves and pirates know Brought down the guiltless blood.

From every vein of mine

Its fiery burthen take;

From every drop the burning coin
Of righteous vengeance make.

Low let the city lie

That thus her guests receives;

A smoking ruin to the eye

Be marble walls and eaves !

Thou God of love and wrath,

That watchest on the wing, Remorseless at those caitiff hearts

Thy bolts of judgment fling!