Storms die in calms:—­
When over land and ocean
Roll the loud chariots of the wind,
Cheer up, cheer up;
The voice of wild commotion,
Proclaims tranquillity behind.

Winter wakes spring:—­
When icy blasts are blowing
O’er frozen lakes, through naked trees,
Cheer up, cheer up;
All beautiful and glowing,
May floats in fragrance on the breeze.

War ends in peace:—­
Though dread artillery rattle,
And ghostly corses load the ground,
Cheer up, cheer up;
Where groan’d the field of battle,
The song, the dance, the feast, go round.

Toil brings repose:—­
With noontide fervours beating,
When droop thy temples o’er thy breast,
Cheer up, cheer up;
Gray twilight, cool and fleeting,
Wafts on its wing the hour of rest.

Death springs to life:—­
Though brief and sad thy story,
Thy years all spent in care and gloom,
Look up, look up;
Eternity and glory
Dawn through the portals of the tomb.

VERSES TO A ROBIN RED-BREAST, WHICH VISITS THE WINDOW OF MY PRISON EVERY DAY.

Welcome, pretty little stranger! 
Welcome to my lone retreat! 
Here, secure from every danger,
Hop about, and chirp, and eat: 
Robin! how I envy thee,
Happy child of Liberty!

    Now, though tyrant Winter, howling,
      Shakes the world with tempests round,
    Heaven above with vapours scowling,
      Frost imprisons all the ground: 
        Robin! what are these to thee? 
        Thou art bless’d with liberty.

    Though yon fair majestic river[70]
      Mourns in solid icy chains,
    Though yon flocks and cattle shiver
      On the desolated plains: 
        Robin! thou art gay and free,
        Happy in thy liberty.

    Hunger never shall disturb thee,
      While my rates one crumb afford;
    Colds nor cramps shall ne’er oppress thee;
      Come and share my humble board: 
        Robin! come and live with me—­
        Live, yet still at liberty.

    Soon shall Spring, in smiles and blushes,
      Steal upon the blooming year;
    Then, amid the enamour’d bushes,
      Thy sweet song shall warble clear: 
        Then shall I, too, join with thee—­
        Swell the hymn of Liberty.

    Should some rough, unfeeling dobbin,
      In this iron-hearted age,
    Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin,
      And confine thee in a cage,
        Then, poor prisoner! think of me—­
        Think, and sigh for liberty.

[70] The Ouse.

SLAVERY THAT WAS.

    Ages, ages have departed,
      Since the first dark vessel bore
    Afric’s children, broken-hearted,
      To the Caribbean shore;
    She, like Rachel,
      Weeping, for they were no more.