Pigs' meat; or, lessons for the swinish multitude: Published in weekly penny numbers, collected by the poor man's advocate (an old veteran in the cause of freedom) in the course of his reading for more than twenty years. Intended to promote among the labouring part of mankind proper ideas of their situation, of their importance, and of their rights. And to convince them that their forlorn condition has not been entirely overlooked and forgotten, nor their just cause unpleaded, neither by their maker not by the best and most enlightened of men in all ages. [pt.2]
Spence, Thomas, 1750-1814.
PALEMON, OR, THE PRESS-GANG.
'FULL many an hour with tardy flight
Has wa•dered o'er my head,
And many a day hath set in night,
And many a month has fled,
Page 141'Since Britain's lov'd, lamented land,
Evanish'd from my view:
Since last I prest my Chloe's hand,
And bade the soft adieu!
'But now upon my raptur'd eye
Extends the long lost isle,
And Chloe's lovely form is nigh,
With fond affection's smile.
'Ah me! what woes were mine to prove,
When far from genial skies,
When absent from the voice of love,
I saw the tempest rise:
'Yet then amid the awful shade
That veil'd the gloomy sky,
What time the dreadful whirl wind play'd,
My Chloe's form was nigh:
''Twas thine in that tremendous hour
To soothe my fears to rest,
'Twas thine the voice of hope to pour
Upon my weary breast;
'What time the lightning's lurid blaze
Illum'd the rolling sea;
I fled to future brighter days
And fix'd my heart on thee;
'Yet now and then a tender sigh
Arose from doubtful fear,
And from my fondly anxious eye
Distill'd the pensive tear.
'But when the stormy scenes subside,
When quiet rul'd the seas,
When the sun trembled on the tide
That murmur'd in the breeze:
'Then in the calm unruffled hour,
From every tumult free,
I own'd affections fondest pow'r,
And dwelt alone on thee;
'And oft when Cynthia from her throne
Amidst the azure plain,
Page 142With softest mildest lustre shone
And slept upon the main.
'While memory fill'd my faithful mind
And bade her visions throng.
I heav'd my passion to the wind
In many a pensive song;
'Oft then thy tender form was seen
In fancy's anxious sight,
To smile upon the wave serene,
And chase the gloom of night:
'Thy accents seem'd my ear to meet
And gently die away,
In notes with melody replete,
And soft as Cynthia's ray.
'Thus have I past the lingering hours
While absent from thy smile,
While absent from Britannia's bow'rs,
Upon the deeps to toil;
'But now upon my raptur'd sight
Britannia's hills are seen,
And gentle Chloe with delight
Inspires the future scene.'
Thus pour'd Palemon his soft strain,
As near the rock they steer'd:
Nor ever dreamt of future pain,
Nor future sorrow fear'd;
When sudden to the wand'ring eye
Along the heaving main,
The cutter spread her sails on high,
And march'd the wat'ry plain:
They saw the savage gang appear,
And trembled at the view:
The pensive scene of grief was near,
And pleasure bade adieu!
Confin'd within the tender drear,
He mourn'd the hours along,
And pour'd of frantic woe the tear,
The weeping waves among.
Page 143No more he dreams of scenes of joy,
Of prospects now decay'd:
The pleasures that of late were nigh,
In stern affliction fade.
'Adieu!' he said, 'to Chloe's smile—
For Chloe's smile no more
Shall tedious hours or days beguile,
On Britain's long lost shore!
'And can you thus, ye sons of wrong,
The innocent betray:
But, ah! my griefs will not be long,
For life declines away.
'Ah! must the gentle peaceful soul
Be torn from tranquil plains,
To where the warring thunders roll,
Where desolation reigns?
'Let those who love the scenes of death,
In scenes of battle fall:
Nor bear away the peaceful breath,
That wishes well to all.'
He said—and o'er his youthful form
A sickly paleness play'd;
And death—that hover'd in the storm
Now spreads his gloomy shade.
'Adieu ye scenes!' he mournful cry'd—
Where once unknown to care,
With gentle Chloe at my side,
I pass•d the moments fair!
'And thou, for whom I live and breathe,
Adieu my Chloe dear!
Oh! twine for me the willow wreathe,
And shed for me the tear!
'Oft wander to my grave alone,
When Cynthia spreads her ray:
And breathe the tender pensive moan,
And sigh the hours away.
''Till death unite, with friendly hand,
In regions far above;
Page 144And join us in the joyful land
Of everlasting love?
He said—and death with pointed dart
Erected high his crest,
And deep he pierc'd the fainting heart,
And freed the tortur'd breast!
Oh shame to Britain! in thy land
shall such a crew remain,
Who lawless in thy regions stand
The "Ministers of pain."
When time has brought the wish'd for day.
And Britain's hills are near;
Ah! is it not—ye tyrants, say,
Ah! is it not severe,
To think that he, who doom'd to roam
For many a month the sea,
At last should be deny'd his home
And dearer friends to see?
And borne relentless from the plain,
From peace and pleasure far,
To meet affliction's dreadful train
Amidst the rage of war!
Oh think! what countless numbers mourn,
And bid their tears to flow,
For friends that never must return
To check the tide of woe!
The streams that in the battle flow,
Lie heavy on your heart;
And S**** shall feel the tenfold blow
When death extends his dart.
For never yet a cruel deed
Unpunish'd past away;
But virtue has a glorious meed
In everlasting day.*{inverted ⁂}
