The LASCAR now with transport ran “Stop! stop!” he cried—with accents bold; The Trav’ller was a fearful man— And next his life he priz’d his gold!— He heard the wand’rer madly cry; He heard his footsteps following nigh; He nothing saw, while onward prest, Black as the sky, the Indian’s breast; ’Till his firm grasp he felt, while cold Down his pale cheek the big drop roll’d; Then, struggling to be free, he gave— A deep wound to the LASCAR Slave. VII. And now he groan’d, by pain opprest, And now crept onward, sad and slow: And while he held his bleeding breast, He feebly pour’d the plaint of woe! “What have I done?” the LASCAR cried— “That Heaven to me the pow’r denied “To touch the soul of man, and share “A brother’s love, a brother’s care; “Why is this dingy form decreed “To bear oppression’s scourge and bleed?— “Is there a GOD, in yon dark Heav’n, “And shall such monsters be forgiv’n? VIII. “Here, in this smiling land we find “Neglect and mis’ry sting our race; “And still, whate’er the LASCAR’s mind, “The stamp of sorrow marks his face!” He ceas’d to speak; while from his side Fast roll’d life’s swiftly-ebbing tide, And now, though sick and faint was he, He slowly climb’d a tall Elm tree, To watch, if, near his lonely way, Some friendly Cottage lent a ray, A little ray of chearful light, To gild the LASCAR’s long, long night! IX. And now he hears a distant bell, His heart is almost rent with joy! And who, but such a wretch can tell, The transports of the Indian boy? And higher now he climbs the tree, And hopes some shelt’ring Cot to see; Again he listens, while the peal Seems up the woodland vale to steal; The twinkling stars begin to fade, And dawnlight purples o’er the glade— And while the sev’ring vapours flee, The LASCAR boy looks chearfully! X.