Soft breathes the gale, the current gently moves, And bears to Norway's coasts her infant-loves. --So the sad mother at the noon of night 420 From bloody Memphis stole her silent flight; Wrapp'd her dear babe beneath her folded vest, And clasp'd the treasure to her throbbing breast, With soothing whispers hushed its feeble cry, Pressed the soft kiss, and breathed the secret sigh.-- 425 --With dauntless step she seeks the winding shore, Hears unappall'd the glimmering torrents roar; With Paper-flags a floating cradle weaves, And hides the smiling boy in Lotus-leaves; Gives her white bosom to his eager lips, 430 The salt tears mingling with the milk he sips; Waits on the reed-crown'd brink with pious guile, And trusts the scaly monsters of the Nile.-- --Erewhile majestic from his lone abode, Embassador of Heaven, the Prophet trod; 435 Wrench'd the red Scourge from proud Oppression's hands, And broke, curst Slavery! thy iron bands. Hark! heard ye not that piercing cry, Which shook the waves and rent the sky!-- E'en now, e'en now, on yonder Western shores 440 Weeps pale Despair, and writhing Anguish roars: E'en now in Afric's groves with hideous yell Fierce SLAVERY stalks, and slips the dogs of hell; From vale to vale the gathering cries rebound, And sable nations tremble at the sound!-- 445 --YE BANDS OF SENATORS! whose suffrage sways Britannia's realms, whom either Ind obeys; Who right the injured, and reward the brave, Stretch your strong arm, for ye have power to save! Throned in the vaulted heart, his dread resort, 450 Inexorable CONSCIENCE holds his court; With still small voice the plots of Guilt alarms, Bares his mask'd brow, his lifted hand disarms; But, wrapp'd in night with terrors all his own, He speaks in thunder, when the deed is done. 455 _Hear him_ ye Senates! hear this truth sublime, "HE, WHO ALLOWS OPPRESSION, SHARES THE CRIME." No radiant pearl, which crested Fortune wears, No gem, that twinkling hangs from Beauty's ears, Not the bright stars, which Night's blue arch adorn, 460 Nor rising suns that gild the vernal morn, Shine with such lustre as the tear, that breaks For other's woe down Virtue's manly cheeks." Here ceased the MUSE, and dropp'd her tuneful shell, Tumultuous woes her panting bosom swell, 465 O'er her flush'd cheek her gauzy veil she throws, Folds her white arms, and bends her laurel'd brows; For human guilt awhile the Goddess sighs, And human sorrows dim celestial eyes. INTERLUDE III. _Bookseller_. Poetry has been called a sister-art both to Painting and to Music; I wish to know, what are the particulars of their relationship?