Page:The White Slave, or Memoirs of a Fugitive.djvu/355

  So soothing, soft, and sweet; Where melting love, sincere delight, Fond pleasure ready joys invite, And unpriced raptures meet!

The prating French, the Spaniard proud, The double Scot, Hibernian loud, And sullen English own The pleasing softness of thy sway, And here transferred allegiance pay, For gracious is thy throne.

From east to west, o'er either Ind, Thy sceptre sways: thy power, we find, Beyond the tropic's felt; The blazing sun, that gilds the zone, Waits but the triumphs of thy throne, Quite round the burning belt.

When thou, America to view, That vast domain, thy conquest new, First left thy native shore, Bright was the morn, and soft the breeze; With wanton joy the curling seas The beauteous burden bore.

Thy skin excelled the raven's plume, Thy breath the fragrant orange bloom, Thy eye the tropic's beam; Soft was thy lip as silken down, And mild thy look as evening sun, That gilds the mountain stream.

The loveliest limbs thy form compose, Such as thy sister-Venus chose In Florence, where she's seen: Both just alike, except the white — No difference at all at night The beauteous dames between.

O, when thy ship had touched the strand, What raptures seized the rayished land!