My Georgian mother's daring flight;
The day's concealment, march by night;
Her death, when, touching Christian ground,
They deem'd repose and safety found:
How, on his arm, by night and day,
I, then a happy infant, lay,
And taught him not to mourn, but pray.
How, when, at length, he reach'd his home,
His heart foretold a gentle doom;
With tears of fondness in his eyes,
Hoping to cause a glad surprize;
Full of submission, pondering o'er
What he too lightly priz'd before;
The curse with tenfold vengeance fell.--
Those who had lov'd him once so well,
In whose indulgence perfect trust
Had still been wise, though most unjust,
Were in the grave!--Their hearts were cold!
His penitence might still be told--
Told to the winds! for few would hear,
Or, hearing, deem that tale sincere
His patrimony's lord denied,
Who, hardening in possession's pride,
Affirm'd the rightful owner died.

"A victim from devouring strife,
And slavery, return'd with life;
Possessions, honours, parents gone,
The very hand that urg'd him on,
Now, by its stern repelling, tore