SONNET

TO DISAPPOINTMENT.

Pale Disappointment! at thy freezing name
Chill fears in every shivering vein I prove;
My sinking pulse almost forgets to move,
And life almost forsakes my languid frame:
Yet thee, relentless nymph! no more I blame:
Why do my thoughts 'midst vain illusions rove?
Why gild the charms of friendship and of love
With the warm glow of fancy's purple flame?
When ruffling winds have some bright fane o'erthrown,
Which shone on painted clouds, or seem'd to shine,
Shall the fond gazer dream for him alone
Those clouds were stable, and at fate repine?
I feel alas! the fault is all my own,
And, ah! the cruel punishment is mine!

"The amiable disposition of those children unfolded itself daily. On a
Sunday, their mothers having gone at break of day to mass, at the church of
the Shaddock Grove, the children perceived a negro woman beneath the
plantains which shaded their habitation. She appeared almost wasted to a
skeleton, and had no other garment than a shred of coarse cloth thrown
across her loins. She flung herself at Virginia's feet, who was preparing
the family breakfast, and cried, 'My good young lady, have pity on a poor
slave. For a whole month I have wandered amongst these mountains, half dead
with hunger, and often pursued by the hunters and their dogs. I fled from
my master, a rich planter of the Black River, who has used me as you see;'