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Updated: May 5, 2025
"Creation smiles around; on every spray The warbling birds exalt their evening lay; Blithe skipping o'er yon hill, the fleecy train Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain: The glassy ocean, hush'd, forgets to roar, But trembling, murmurs on the sandy shore."
The trembling youth, charm'd by my strain, Calls up the crew, who, silent, bend O'er the high deck, but list in vain; My song is hush'd, my wonders end!
The white man shall our pity share; Alas! no wife, or mother's care, For him the milk or corn prepare. The storm is o'er, the tempest past, And mercy's voice has hush'd the blast; The wind is heard in whispers low; The white man far away must go; But ever in his heart will bear Remembrance of the negro's care.
The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse, Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse! Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone, That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.
Dry be that tear, be hush'd that sigh, At least I'll love thee till I die. Hush'd be that sigh. And does that thought affect thee too, The thought of Sylvio's death, That he who only breathed for you, Must yield that faithful breath? Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, Nor let us lose our Heaven here. Dry be that tear. Mr.
For the sinful sword thy hand Bearing bright the silver wand: Through the camp and through the court, Through the bandit's gloomy fort, On the mission of the dove, Speeds the minister of love; By a word the wildest taming, And the world to Christ reclaiming: While, as once the waters trod By the footsteps of thy God, War, and wrath, and rapine cease, Hush'd round thy charmed path, O Messenger of Peace!
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, Restored the pleasing burden to her arms; Soft on her fragrant breast the babe he laid, Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd. The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, She mingled with the smile a tender tear.
And in the after-silence sweet, Now strife is hush'd, our ears doth meet, Ascending pure, the bell-like fame Of this or that down-trodden name, Delicate spirits, push'd away In the hot press of the noonday.
I must own, my charming Philander, that my love is now arrived to that excess, that every thought which before but discompos'd me, now puts me into a violence of rage unbecoming my sex; or any thing but the mighty occasion of it, love, and which only had power to calm what it had before ruffled into a destructive storm: but like the anger'd sea, which pants and heaves, and retains still an uneasy motion long after the rude winds are appeas'd and hush'd to silence; my heart beats still, and heaves with the sensible remains of the late dangerous tempest of my mind, and nothing can absolutely calm me but the approach of the all-powerful Philander; though that thought possesses me with ten thousand fears, which I know will vanish all at thy appearance, and assume no more their dreadful shapes till thou art gone again: bring me then that kind cessation, bring me my Philander, and set me above the thoughts of cares, frights, or any other thoughts but those of tender love; haste then, thou charming object of my eternal wishes, and of my new desires; haste to my arms, my eyes, my soul, but oh, be wondrous careful there, do not betray the easy maid that trusts thee amidst all her sacred store.
And F forgets the certain Bett he made; E'en S-l-n feels Ambition fire his breast And leaves half told, the fabricated Jest. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The murmurs hush'd the Herald straight proclaim'd S-l-n the witty next in order nam'd, But he was gone to hear the dismal yells Of tortur'd Ghosts and suffering Criminals, Tho' summoned thrice, he chose not to return, Charmed to behold the crackling Culprits burn With George all know Ambition must give place When there's an Execution in the case."
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