Mr. Duncan Hamilton, Cla- Mr. Thomas Ross, St. Tho

Mr. Robt. Herdman, King- Mr. Jas. Sadler, St. Mary's.

ADDRESSED TO THE FRIENDS OF GENIUS IN JAMAICA.

THE rustic bardling long unheeded sung,

And oft his bosom felt affliction's dart

The genuine plaint of woe flow'd from his tongue, It fell-and seldom reach'd a kindred heart.

But as the spring which from the rock descends,
By constant running wears the hardest stone
A gen'rous few at length became his friends,
Approv'd his song, and made his woes their own.

And

ye who dwell in fair Jamaica's isle,

With ready hands bestow'd unlook'd for aid; To make stern fortune on the bardling smile, And raise him from oblivion's darkest shade.

may your

ang

fervid bosoms never know

of guilt....the rankling wound of woe !

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THE BROKEN HEART.

INSCRIBED TO A GENTLEMAN OF THE FACULTY.

"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
"Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;

"Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
"And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,

"Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff,
"Which weighs upon the heart?"

SHAKESPEARE

O THOU! whose never-failing skill,

Can mend the human frame at will,

And drive the tyrant Death away,

Tho' ready to devour his prey

Say, can your boasted skill impart

No balm to heal a broken heart?

B

Ah, no!...the Esculapian train
Their med'cines may apply in vain,

To cure the rankling wound of grief,
And give the woe-fraught soul relief—
In vain, alas!...no human art

Can ever heal a broken heart.

The balmy Spring, diffusing joy,
The Summer breeze's fragrant sigh,
Each gaudy-colour'd flow'r that springs,

And all the gifts which Autumn brings.....
Can only whet affliction's dart,

And deeper wound the broken heart.

Sweet friendship's voice may close in sleep
Those eyes, which "only wake to weep.;"

May, for a moment, banish care,

And calm the tempest of despair

But from his dream the wretch will start,
And, writhing, own a broken heart.

Love's baseless visions may a while
The troubled soul from woe beguile—

The dulcet song may soothe to rest
The raging tumult of the breast-

But soon such blissful dreams depart

From him who feels a broken heart.

Alas! how many strive in vain,

A respite from their pangs to gain;
And quaff th' intoxicating bowl,
Till frenzy lords it o'er the soul!

But reason comes with ten-fold smart,

And rends a-fresh the broken heart.

Then what shall still affliction's throe,
And dissipate the gloom of woe?-
Bid settled sorrow cease to sigh,

And wipe the tear from mis'ry's eye?-
Pluck out despair's impoison'd dart,
And hush to peace the broken heart.