“Shut out the Sun, O! pitying Night! “Make the wide world my silent tomb! “O’ershade this northern, sickly light, “And shroud me, in eternal gloom! “My Indian plains, now smiling glow, “There stands my Parent’s hovel low, “And there the tow’ring aloes rise “And fling their perfumes to the skies! “There the broad palm Trees covert lend, “There Sun and Shade delicious blend; “But here, amid the blunted ray, “Cold shadows hourly cross my way! V. “Was it for this, that on the main “I met the tempest fierce and strong, “And steering o’er the liquid plain, “Still onward, press’d the waves among? “Was it for this, the LASCAR brave “Toil’d, like a wretched Indian Slave; “Preserv’d your treasures by his toil, “And sigh’d to greet this fertile soil? “Was it for this, to beg, to die, “Where plenty smiles, and where the Sky “Sheds cooling airs; while fev’rish pain, “Maddens the famish’d LASCAR’s brain? VI. “Oft, I the stately Camel led, “And sung the short-hour’d night away; “And oft, upon the top-mast’s head, “Hail’d the red Eye of coming day. “The Tanyan’s back my mother bore; “And oft the wavy Ganges’ roar “Lull’d her to rest, as on she past— “’Mid the hot sands and burning blast! “And oft beneath the Banyan tree “She sate and fondly nourish’d me; “And while the noontide hour past slow, “I felt her breast with kindness glow. VII. “Where’er I turn my sleepless eyes, “No cheek so dark as mine, I see; “For Europe’s Suns, with softer dyes “Mark Europe’s favour’d progeny! “Low is my stature, black my hair, “The emblem of my Soul’s despair! “My voice no dulcet cadence flings, “To touch soft pity’s throbbing strings! “Then wherefore cruel Briton, say, “Compel my aching heart to stay? “To-morrow’s Sun—may rise, to see— “The famish’d LASCAR, blest as thee!” VIII.