The Works of John Hall-Stevenson :: :: University of Virginia Library

A nightingale, in her retreat,
Exerted all her native powers;
Compos'd and sung plaintively sweet,
To charm the silent hours.
A hungry Hawk in ambush lay,
And seiz'd the hapless songster for his prey;
The warbling Victim tried in vain
To melt a cruel tyrant's heart;
Proof against every moving strain,
Of nature or of art.
Charmer, said he, I wait too long,
Hawks require food more solid than a song:
Then with a villain's smile he struck
The loveliest tenant of the wood;
In her poor heart his beak he stuck,
Rioting in her vital blood.
Listen, ye fair ones, to my lay,
Your ways with trembling caution mark!
How many virgins fall a prey,
To some base murderer in the dark.

199

Your youth, your tears, your spotless fame,
Add to the brutal fire fresh fuel;
Deaf to compassion, dead to shame,
Selfishness is always cruel.
Ye candid souls, whose pulses beat
With no distemper'd selfish heat,
View here again a wretch oppress'd,
And heaven and earth in vain implor'd;
Robb'd of his property and rest,
Devour'd by a rapacious Lord.—
When Avarice and Power unblushing meet,
Woe to the humble Neighbour of the Great.