The morn had scarcely shed its rays When, from the City’s din he ran; For he had fasted, four long days, And faint his Pilgrimage began! The LASCAR, now, without a friend,— Up the steep hill did slow ascend; Now o’er the flow’ry meadows stole, While pain, and hunger, pinch’d his Soul; And now his fev’rish lip was dried, And burning tears his thirst supply’d, And, ere he saw the Ev’ning close, Far off, the City dimly rose! IX. Again the Summer Sun flam’d high The plains were golden, far and wide; And fervid was the cloudless sky, And slow the breezes seem’d to glide: The gossamer, on briar and spray, Shone silv’ry in the solar ray; And sparkling dew-drops, falling round Spangled the hot and thirsty ground; The insect myriads humm’d their tune To greet the coming hour of noon, While the poor LASCAR Boy, in haste, Flew, frantic, o’er the sultry waste. X. And whither could the wand’rer go? Who would receive a stranger poor? Who, when the blasts of night should blow, Would ope to him the friendly door? Alone, amid the race of man, The sad, the fearful alien ran! None would an Indian wand’rer bless; None greet him with the fond caress; None feed him, though with hunger keen He at the Lordly gate were seen, Prostrate, and humbly forc’d to crave A shelter, for an Indian Slave. XI. The noon-tide Sun, now flaming wide, No cloud its fierce beam shadow’d o’er, But what could worse to him betide Than begging, at the proud man’s door? For clos’d and lofty was the gate, And there, in all the pride of State, A surly Porter turn’d the key, A man of sullen soul was he— His brow was fair; but in his eye Sat pamper’d scorn, and tyranny; And, near him, a fierce mastiff stood, Eager to bathe his fangs in blood. XII.