MADAGASCAR SONG.
[Translated by Sir John Bowring.]
Trust not—trust not to the seashore sorcerers!
In the times of old the sorcerers came
To our island and were thus accosted:
"Land is here, so tarry with your women;
Be ye good and just, and be our brothers!"
Thus the sorcerers promised—we believed them.
Soon they overturned our walls—erected
Threatening fortresses, which poured forth thunder
In their fury; and their priests would give us
Other unknown gods than ours to worship;
And they spoke of services and obedience.
Better die! The fight was long and bloody.
They were masters of the murderous lightnings,
And our multitudinous hosts they scattered ;
All were scattered—all—our people perished.
Trust not—trust not to the seashore sorcerers!
More invaders came, yet bolder—stronger.
On the seashore they their banners planted;
But Heaven fought with us, and they were conquered!
Heavy torrents fell; and mighty tempests,
Storms and poisonous winds o'erwhelmed the stranger.
They are gone—are dead; and we, the living,
Live to know that we are free and happy.
Trust not—trust not to the seashore sorcerers!
I did not follow the counsel thus given; and lo, the terrible penalty I paid. My crime was rete mucosmal, and for that scarce a lecturer or paper devoted to "Reform" but had its fling at me, even to the extent of abusing my dead mother, who went to heaven nearly fifty years ago. But I bided my time! Veni! Vidi! Vici! Hundreds of "Lecturers" and thousands of "The faithful and unco-Godly," most of whom I never saw, considered their labor incomplete, and their speech imperfect, unless they could soundly abuse my mother's only son. But what did it avail—in the end? They were compelled to borrow, or rather steal, my thought, and pass it off as their own; and I have cut out of their articles and speeches thousands of lines, and hundreds of thoughts, which I had
