36
There, as with nature's warmest filial fire, He sooths his blind, and feeds his helpless sire ; His children sporting round his hut behold How they shall cherish him when he is old, Train'd by example from their tenderest youtli To deeds of charity and words of truth." — Is he not blest ? Behold, at closing day, The negro-village swarms abroad to play ;
He treads the dance through all its rapturous rounds.
To the wild music of barbarian sounds ;
Or, stretch'd at ease, where broad palmettos shower
Delicious coolness in his shadowy bower.
He feasts on tales of witchcraft, that gave birth
To breathless wonder, or ecstatic mirth ;
Yet most delighted when in rudest rhymes.
The minstrel wakes the song of elder times,
When men were heroes, slaves to Beauty's cliarms,
And all the joys of life were love and arms.
Is not the Negro blest ? His generous soil
With harvest-plenty crowns his simple toil ;
�� �
