 | The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces |  |
Be he my theme. I ask no fabled aid,
Nor Delian seer, nor Heliconian maid.
But thou, pure partner of the eternal throne,
O Justice, rigid to thyself alone;
And Love, beside th' abandon'd stranger found,
Soothing with oil and wine his burning wound;
And Faith with lifted hand, and kindling eye,
Which scorning things below anticipates the sky:
If e'er from Britain's senate, where ye hung
With holy joy on Wilberforce's tongue,
To the green vale of gentle Ouse retir'd,
Ye caught the numbers, which yourselves inspir'd,
While, as your Cowper's fingers lightly flew,
Sounds half-prophetic from the harp he drew:
O grant another humbler bard to hear
Your accents warbled in his nightly ear,
Then strike the answering chords, and wake a strain severe!
Nor Delian seer, nor Heliconian maid.
10
O Justice, rigid to thyself alone;
And Love, beside th' abandon'd stranger found,
Soothing with oil and wine his burning wound;
And Faith with lifted hand, and kindling eye,
Which scorning things below anticipates the sky:
If e'er from Britain's senate, where ye hung
With holy joy on Wilberforce's tongue,
To the green vale of gentle Ouse retir'd,
Ye caught the numbers, which yourselves inspir'd,
While, as your Cowper's fingers lightly flew,
Sounds half-prophetic from the harp he drew:
O grant another humbler bard to hear
Your accents warbled in his nightly ear,
Then strike the answering chords, and wake a strain severe!
| The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces | |