Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1838.pdf/78

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of summer green Is on the southern plain, And water-flags, with dewy screen, Protect the ripening grain. Upon the sky is not a cloud To mar the golden glow, Only the palm-tree is allowed To fling its shade below.

And silvery, mid its fertile brakes, The winding river glides, And every ray in heaven makes Its mirror of its tides. And yet it is a place of death— A place of sacrifice; Heavy with childhood’s parting breath— Weary with childhood’s cries.

The mother takes her little child, Its face is like her own; The cradle of her choice is wild— Why is it left alone? The trampling of the buffalo Is heard among the reeds, And sweeps around the carrion-crow That amid carnage feeds.

Oh! outrage upon mother Earth To yonder azure sky; A destined victim from its birth, The child is left to die. We shudder that such crimes disgrace E’en yonder savage strand; Alas! and hath such crime no trace Within our English land?

Pause, ere we blame the savage code That such strange horror keeps; Perhaps within her sad abode The mother sits and weeps,