SONGS, in the slaves of Algiers, or a struggle for freedom

The rose just bursting into bloom, Admir'd where'er 'tis seen; Diffuses round a rich perfume, The garden's pride and queen. When gather'd from its native bed, No longer charms the eye; Its vivid tints are quickly fled, 'Twill wither, droop, and die.

So woman when by nature drest, In charms devoid of art; Can warm the stoic's icy breast, Can triumph o'er each heart. Can bid the soul to virtue rise, To glory prompt the brave, But sinks oppress'd, and drooping dies, When once she's made a slave.