THE ENGLISH PEASANT.*

BY WILLIAM HOWITT.

"THE condition of the West Indian slaves is much better and happier than that of the English peasantry."-COMMON ASSERTION.

THE land for me! the land for me!

Where every living soul is free!

Where winter may come, where storms may rave,
But the tyrant dare not bring his slave.

I should hate to dwell in a summer land,
Where flowers spring up on every hand;
Where the breeze is glad, the heavens are fair,
And the taint of blood is everywhere.

I saw a peasant sit at his door,

When his weekly toil in the fields was o'er;
He sate on the bench his grandsire made,
He sate in his father's walnut shade.

'Twas the golden hour of an April morn;
Lightly the lark sprang from the corn;
The blossoming trees shone purely white,
Quiver'd the young leaves in the light.
The Sabbath bells with a holy glee
Were ringing o'er woodlands, heath, and lea:
'Twas a season whose living influence ran
Through air, through earth, and the heart of man.

No feeble joy was that peasant's lot,
As his children gamboll'd before his cot,
And archly mimick'd the toils and cares,
Which coming life shall make truly theirs.

But their mother, with breakfast-call, anon
Came forth, and their merry masque was gone.
"Twas a beautiful sight, as, meekly still,
They sate in their joy on the cottage sill.

The sire look'd on them,-he look'd to the skies ;-
I saw how his heart spake in his eyes;

Lightly he rose, and lightly he trod

To pour out his soul in the house of God.

And is this the man, thou vaunting knave!

Thou hast dared to compare with the weeping slave?
Away! find one slave in the world to cope
With him, in his heart, his home, and hope.

He is not in thy lands of sin and pain,—

Sear'd, scarr'd with the lash, cramp'd with the chain:
In thy burning clime where the heart is cold,
And man, like the beast, is bought and sold.

He is not in the East, in his gorgeous halls,
Where the servile crowd before him falls,
Till the bow-string comes, in an hour of wrath,
And he vanishes from the tyrant's path.

But Q thou slanderer false and vile!
Dare but to cross that garden-stile ;-
Dare but to touch that lowly thatch;-
Dare but to force that peasant's latch ;→

From the Aurora Borealis,

And thy craven soul shall wildly quake
At the thunder-peal that deed shall wake;
For myriad tongues of fire shall sound,
As if every stone cried from the ground.
The indignant thrill like flame shall spread,
Till the isle itself rock 'neath thy tread:
And a voice from people, peer, and throne,
Ring in thine ears, "Atone! atone!"

For Freedom here is common guest,
In princely hall, and peasant's nest :
The palace is fill'd with her living light :-
And she watches the hamlet day and night.

Then the land for me! the land for me!
Where every living soul is free"!

:

Where winter may come, where storms may rave,
But the tyrant dare not bring his slave.

APPEAL FOR THE INJURED AFRICAN.*
BY J. H. WIFFIN.

O THOU, to whom the mournful sigh

Of sorrow and despair ascends,— Who hear'st the ravens when they cry, The babe, when at thy feet he bends! More weak than is the raven's brood,

Less pure than infants though we be,
Our silent prayers for Lybia's good,

O Father, let them rise to thee!
By realms dispeopled, tongues struck

dumb

With the brute outrages of years,
In thy remembrance let them come,
The negro's wrongs, the negro's tears!
Whate'er of crime, whate'er of woe,
Europe has wrought, or Afric wept,
In the recording volume, lo!

The Angel of thy court has kept.
Yet,-ere the' assessing spirit stands,
Prepared to sound, from shore to shore,
That golden trumpet which commands
The' oppressor's scourge to smite no

more,

Ah! stay his vials !-with our prayer

No vengeance breathes ;-in judgment break

The' oppressor's galling chains, but spare

The' oppressor, for thy mercy's sake.
Didst thou not form, from pole to pole,
The various tongues and tribes of earth
Erect, with an immortal soul,

Expectant of one holier birth?
And shall the nations dare to hold
In chains, whom thou hast charter'd
free?

Or buy, with their accursed gold,

The sinewy arm and servile knee? No not for this didst thou commend,

With westering keel, and sails unfurl'd, Columbus o'er the waves, to rend

The curtains of that younger world. And O, 'twas not for this that he

Uprear'd thy hallow'd ensign there;
Alas, that e'er thy cross should be

The joyless herald of despair :-
That whom thy loved One died to save,

Man, guilty man must hold subdued,
And plead "prescription" o'er the grave,
When question'd of his brother's blood.
But THOU art righteous; thou wilt rise
All mighty, as in days of yore,
When Israel sigh'd, as Lybia sighs,

Beneath the tasks his children bore.

Cry not the Isles themselves aloud,
"Three hundred thralling years are
sped,

Since earth by tyranny was plough'd,-
The vintage of the land is red ?"

In that great day, when Afric's race

Are from their house of bondage cast, O hide us in some peaceful place,

Till all thy wrath be overpast!

For dark, except thy mercy shine,
This later Passover must be !
Our prayers, then, at thy pardoning
shrine,

O Father, let them rise to thee!

From the Aurora Borealis.

LONDON-Printed by James Nichols, 2, Warwick Square, Newgate Street.

FOR FEBRUARY, 1833.

BIOGRAPHY.

MEMOIR OF THE REV. GEORGE SMITH,

BY HIS SON, WILLIAM BRAMWELL SMITH.

(Concluded from p. 13.)

Two months before the Conference of 1801, my father was invited to York, to supply the place of the late Rev. Robert Johnson, who was disabled, by a fall from his horse, from discharging his ministerial duties. My father frequently preached in the Thursday market, to numerous congregations. He never suffered molestation or interruption; and these exertions were not without immediate fruit. Whilst travelling in this Circuit, he was married to my mother. On this subject he thus writes:

"Before my removal I married a suitable companion, who lived at Acomb, a village very near the city. In this I had occasion, and still have, to bless the kind providence of God; as it served to settle my mind, and instead of proving a hinderance, has been a blessed means of helping me forward in the Lord's work.”

After the Conference of 1803, my father removed to Appleby in Westmoreland. The Circuit town was Brough. It had hitherto been visited by the Preachers stationed at Barnard-Castle; and indeed, at this period, there were only fifteen members of society. The house to which my father took his bride was only rented at £3; and he himself had to collect money with which to furnish it.

The following extract will show that my father's zeal in the cause of Christ was not declining :

"On my arrival at Brough on the Saturday evening, I heard of a market-town called Kirkby-Stephen, about five miles distant, which was reported to me as a singularly wicked place. After preaching at Brough in the morning, being the Lord's day, I set off on foot for this place, intending, if it should please God, to preach there. Having dined at the inn, I asked leave of the landlord to stand on the horse-block before his door. He consented; and I presently stood up, giving out a hymn, in which a few friends from Brough, whom I had appointed to meet me, joined. I then prayed, and gave out my text, the people gathering around me. It was a solemn season, and many appeared to be affected by the word. Thus encouraged, I gave notice of preaching in the same place on the Sunday following, and for several successive Sabbaths. last, a neighbouring Squire, who was a Magistrate, having heard of my VOL. XII. Third Series. FEBRUARY, 1833.

G