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TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, PATRON, AND TO THE DIRECTORS AND GOVERNORS, OF THE SOCIETY FOR BETTERING THE CONDITION OF THE NATIVES OF AFRICA, THIS WORK, In Honour of the Abolition of the Slave Trade, IS, BY PERMISSION, DEDICATED, WITH THE MOST PROFOUND ADMIRATION AND RESPECT, BY THE PROPRIETOR AND PUBLISHER,
ROBERT BOWYER.


PROMETHEUS DELIVERED.
[_]

Lines explanatory of the Vignette in the Title-page.

Come, Outcast of the human race,
‘Prometheus, hail thy destined place!
‘This rock protects the dark retreat,
‘Unvisited by earthly feet;
‘We only shall thy mansion share,
‘Who haunt the chamber of despair!
‘The vulture, here, thy loathed mate—
‘Rapacious minister of fate!
‘Compels life's ruddy stream to part
‘With keenest torture from thy heart.
‘Yet not to perish art thou doomed,
‘Victim unspared, but unconsumed;
‘Death shall not sap thy wall of clay,
‘That penal being mocks decay;
‘Live, conscious inmate of the grave,
‘Live, outcast, captive, victim, slave!’
The Furies ceased; the wrathful strain
Prometheus hears, and, pierced with pain,
Rolls far around his hopeless gaze,
His realm of wretchedness surveys;
Then maddening with convulsive breath,
He moans or raves, imploring death.


Thus hours on hours unnumbered past,
And each more lingering than the last;
When lo! before his glazed sight,
Appears a form, in dauntless might.
'Tis he! Alcides, lord of fame!
The friend of man, his noblest name!
Swift from his bow the arrow flies,
And prone the bleeding vulture lies.
He smites the rock, he rends the chain,
Prometheus rises man again!
Such, Africa, thy suffering state!
Outcast of nations, such thy fate!
The ruthless rock, the den of pain,
Were thine—oh long deplored in vain,
Whilst Britain's virtue slept! at length
She rose in majesty and strength;
And when thy martyr'd limbs she viewed,
Thy wounds unhealed, and still renewed,
She wept; but soon with graceful pride,
The vulture, Avarice, she defied,
And wrenched him from thy reeking side;
In Britain's name then called thee forth,
Sad exile, to the social hearth,
From baleful Error's realm of night,
To Freedom's breath and Reason's light.

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AFRICA DELIVERED;

OR, THE SLAVE TRADE ABOLISHED.

A Poem. BY JAMES GRAHAME.

IS NOT THIS THE FAST THAT I HAVE CHOSEN? TO LOOSE THE BANDS OF WICKEDNESS, TO UNDO THE HEAVY BURDENS, AND TO LET THE OPPRESSED GO FREE, AND THAT YE BREAK EVERY YOKE? ISAIAH LVIII. 6.


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I. PART I.

------ CRUDELIS UBIQUE
LUCTUS, UBIQUE PAVOR, ET PLURIMA MORTIS IMAGO.
ÆN. II.

Beyond Sahara's wilderness, where heaves
The arid surge, o'erwhelming in its sweep
Horse, horseman, and the camel's towering crest,
As by the stars the struggling caravan,
At midnight hour, their sultry voyage steer;
Beyond that wilderness the nations dwelt
In peace and happiness: no foreign foe
Had crossed the desert or had ploughed the main,
Conveying warfare and the seeds of war.
There bounteous nature with spontaneous hand
Has scattered every herb, tree, shrub, and flower,
That ministers to man's delight or use:
Bud, blossom, fruit, adorn at once the boughs,
While mid the gay festoons full many a bird,
Of plumage various, brilliant as the hues

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Of tulip bells, like sister blossoms seem:
In that fair land of hill, and dale, and stream,
The simple tribes from age to age had heard
No hostile voice, save when the lion's roar
Or tiger's howl was heard far in the woods;
Far in the woods was then the lion's haunt,
For then each bow was bent, each lance was poised
Against the savage tenants of the wild;
More savage men as yet were there unknown.
Safe on the Atlantic beach the old and young
In mirth and revelry were wont to join;
Beneath his plantain tree the father sat,
And, while his children joyous played around,
Indulged the hope, unmingled with a fear,
That in the midst of them his days should end.
Behold the dire reverse, nor turn aside
From scenes of crimes, of cruelties and woes.
Horror my theme! no soothing strain I sing:
Let selfish sensibility wink hard,

‘True humanity consists not in a squeamish ear. It consists not in starting or shrinking at such tales as these, but in a disposition of heart to relieve misery. True humanity appertains rather to the mind than to the nerves, and prompts men to use real and active endeavours to execute the actions which it suggests.’ I know not who is the author of this passage. It is the quotation of a quotation from Wilberforce's Letter on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, p. 38, 3d Edition.


And bar both ears against the rude assault;
There still are manly minds who bend a look
Steadfast on guilt in all its hideous forms,
Who misery firm survey with tearless eye,
Yet melting heart, and hand prompt to relieve.
Truth, gloomy truth, tho' robed in weeds deep drench'd
In blood, should meet unveiled the public view,

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And real tragedy, at last assume
That spacious stage, round which an audience draws
Numerous as they who speak Britannia's tongue.
In day's full noontide glare, see Murder roam
Undauntedly, and aim the fateful ball
With keen remorseless eye, boasting the deed
By which a husband and a father falls;
Then hurries off his unprotected prey,
A frantic widow with her orphan babes.
Now Treachery lurks beneath the flowery smile
Of meeting friends, and stings with double pang.
Even princes traitors prove, and oft conspire
To sell their subjects: lo, at midnight hour
The royal mandate lights the treacherous flame
That o'er the deep-hushed hamlet ruin spreads.

‘The village is attacked in the night; if deemed needful, to increase the confusion, it is set on fire, and the wretched inhabitants, as they are flying naked from the flames, are seized, and carried into slavery.’ Wilberforce's Letter, p. 11.


Wildered with terror, parents, children flee,
But rush upon a fate, than what they shun
More dreadful; every bond that binds to life
Burst, never to be joined, and in their stead
Chains, dungeons, torments, torturing disease,
With but one melancholy beam of hope
Reflected faintly from a watery tomb.
And whence this whelming pestilence of crimes?
'Twas Europe sent the dæmon mission forth,
Soon as her sons had learnt the magnet's power,—
Mysterious pilot! whose wide ken discerns,

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Unerringly, through star-enshrouding storms,
The polar lamp; whose restless tremulous hand,—
Whether the labouring ship couch 'tween the waves,
Or reeling quiver on the foaming ridge,—
Still points aright, and guides her o'er the deep.
But soon the foul preeminence in guilt
By England was engrossed. From Mersey's bay,
Or turbid Severn, mark the gallant ship,
Gaily bedecked, a scene of seeming joy,
Where many a heavy and repentant heart
Sees the green shore recede, the mountains grey
Sink from the straining sight, and nought all round
But wave and sky. Ere long sweet-scented airs,
From Lusitania's groves, swell every sail
With fragrance, every heart with vernal joy:
Smiling the aged helmsman turns to breathe
The balmy gale; while from the topmast height
The ship-boy spies the blossom-gilded shore
And thinks how happy is the land-boy's life,
Who fearless climbs among the loaded boughs.
These shores glide fast away, and Atlas frowns
Far o'er the deep: the fire-peaked Teneriffe
Amid the gloom of night is first descried:
With day, the islands falsely happy called
Pass in review, and tropic waves succeed.
Sagacious of the taint that still adheres

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Indelible to decks long drenched with gore,
Death-omening birds supply a convoy dire;
Or forward flocking, ere the ship appear,
Wheel clamorous, and perch upon the beach,
Sure harbingers of wretchedness to him
Who daily with the sun, to scan the deep,
Yon mountain climbs, leading with boding breast
His playful boy. And now the sails appear
Hung in the dim horizon: freedom's flag,
Britannia's glowing ensign, is descried;
Then full in view the floating prison-house,
The Pandorean ark of every curse
Imagination can combine to blast
Poor human life, comes rolling o'er the surge.
The mother strains her infant to her breast,
And weeps to think her eldest-born has reached
Those years, which, tender though they be, provoke
The white man's thirst of gain: more dreadful far
The white man's scowl, than the couched lion's glare!
Fiercely the mid-day sun beat overhead;
No shadow followed Maliel's playful steps,
As from the field, where he had watched to scare

‘Abundance of little blacks of both sexes are also stolen away by their neighbours, when found abroad on the roads, or in the woods, or else in the engans, or cornfields, where they are kept all day to scare the small birds that come in swarms to feed on the millet.’ Barbot's Travels—Astley. vol. ii. p. 256.


The plundering birds, he sought the neighbouring wood
To drink the water from the chaliced herb;—
Sudden a hurrying step behind he hears:
It is the white man's tread. Trembling he flies

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To reach the friendly grove; when deep, a roar,
The thunder of the new-waked lion's mouth,
Comes full upon his ear: the oppressor's hand
With fetters loaded, or the lion's paw,—
Such is the dire alternative he views;—
Forward he flies and darts into the wood.
But small the sum of evil that results
From individual crime, though deep their dye,
Compared to that destruction which awaits
On war, on war incited by the arts
Of men, professing to obey the words
Of Him, whose law was peace.
The murderous league,
The bribe for blood, is struck, the doom pronounced,
By which a peaceful unoffending race
Are sentenced to the sword, to exile, chains.—
Calm was the eve, and cooling was the gale
That gently fanned Koöma's Bentang tree:
Beneath its canopy the aged throng
Sat garrulous, and praised the lightsome days
Of better years, yet blessed their lot that now,
Beneath the boughs which waved above their sires,
They see their children round about them sport
In mirthful rings, or hear the horn that sounds
The herd's approach: alas, 'tis not the sound
Of herdsman's horn: it is the trumpet's voice,

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Distant as yet, and faint among the hills.
Homeward each warrior hies and grasps the spear,
And slings the quiver o'er his throbbing breast,
Trembling for those who weeping round him wait,
But bold in conscious courage and his cause.—
Quick round the Bentang, all in martial guise,
The dauntless phalanx eager is arrayed;
Not one who claims, though but in half-formed voice,
The name of man, waits for the chieftain's call:
Even boys, who scarce can string their childish bows,
Press keenly forward, and like untrained dogs
Are rated home. To stem the tide of war,
Forward the warriors haste: the foe appears,
The bonbalon resounds; the murderous yell,
Impatient of delay, is raised; no pause
Allowed for marshalling, with van to van,
Opponent, stretched in parallel array,
But line with line, the chiefs at either head,
Is fiercely joined, like two infuriate snakes
That crested meet, entwining, till convolved
They form a writhing globe, and poisoned die
By mutual wounds. Not so the combat ends
That seals Koöma's doom: right yields to power.
O'erwhelmed by numbers, fathers, husbands, lie
Dead, bleeding, dying; blessed are the dead!

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They hear not the oppressor's chain, nor feel
The bolted ir'on; while from a neighbouring hill
The pale-faced, ruthless author of the war,
Surveys the human harvest reaped and bound.

‘A battle is fought; the vanquished seldom think of rallying; the whole inhabitants become panic-struck, and the conquerors have only to bind their slaves, and carry off their plunder and victims.’ Parke.


Fire, sword, and rapine, sweep away at once
The cottage with its inmates, and transform
The happy vale into a wilderness;
No human being, save the bowed down,
And children that scarce lisp a father's name,
Is left: as when a forest is laid low,
Haply some single and far sundered trees
Are spared, while every lowly shrub and flower,
That sheltered smiled, droops shivering in the breeze.
And now the wretched captives, linked in rows,

‘The Slatees are forced to keep them constantly in irons, and watch them very closely, to prevent their escape. They are commonly secured by putting the right leg of one, and the left of the other, into the same pair of fetters. By supporting the fetters with a string, they can walk, though very slowly. Every four slaves are likewise fastened together by the necks, with a strong rope of twisted thongs; and in the night, an additional pair of fetters is put on their hands, and sometimes a light iron chain passed round their necks.’

Parke, p. 319.

‘During this day's travel two slaves, a woman and a girl, belonging to a Slatee of Bala, were so much fatigued, that they could not keep up with the coffle; they were severely whipped, and dragged along till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when they were both affected with something, by which it was discovered that they had eaten clay. This practice is by no means uncommon among the negroes, but whether it arises from a vitiated appetite, or from a settled intention to destroy themselves, I cannot affirm. Parke

‘We accordingly set out together, and travelled with great expedition through the woods, until noon, when one of the Sorawolli slaves dropped the load from his head, for which he was smartly whipped. The load was replaced; but he had not proceeded above a mile before he let it fall a second time, for which he received the same punishment. After this he travelled with great pain until about two o'clock, when we stopped to breathe a little, by a pool of water, the day being remarkably hot. The poor slave was now so completely exhausted, that his master was obliged to release him from the rope, for he lay motionless on the ground. Parke, p. 346, 7.

‘During a wearisome peregrination of more than five hundred British miles, exposed to the burning rays of a tropical sun, these poor slaves, amidst their own infinitely greater sufferings, would commiserate mine; and frequently, of their own accord, bring water to quench my thirst, and at night collect branches and leaves to prepare me a bed in the wilderness.” Parke, p. 356, 7.


In sad community of chains, drag on
Their iron-cumbered limbs, while oft the scourge
Or unclosed wound leaves in the thirsty sand
The traces of their miserable way.
At last the fainting victims reach the shore,
Where low they lie, dispersed in mournful bands;
Then are unbound, to bear the butcher gripe
Of brutal traffickers, or join the dance,
Mockery of mirth! to harmony of whips.
The bargains finished, piteous is the sight,
Most lamentable are the peals of cries,

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The groans of parents from their children torn,
Of brother, sister severed; every tie
Of kindred by one rude revulsion riven.
Yet such is not the cruel lot of all:
Some kindred groups remain entire, and feel
The solace of society in woe.
Behold a father driven with his sons,
The mother with her nursling in her arms.—
To meet yon ship, now newly hove in sight
And unsupplied, the trader with his flock
Hastes to the water edge, where waits his boat
Its human cargo: first the sire is bound
And thrown beneath a bench; the rest unbound
Implicit follow where affection leads:
His darling boy hastes in and lays him down,
A gentle pillow to his father's head,
And with his little hand would dry the tears
That fill the upward-turned, despairing eye.
Quick plunge the oars; fleetly to eyes unused
The land retreating seems, while the huge ship
Comes towering on with all her bulging sails;
And now she nighs, and now her shadow spreads
Dark o'er the little barge's captive freight,
Like vulture's wings above the trembling lamb.
Alas, another captive-loaded keel
Plies from the shore to meet the floating mart.

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Ah, who is he that in the dimpling track
Elbows the brine? He is a boy, bereft
Of sight, and worthless in the trader's eye;
The only remnant to a father left
Of all his children; he the best beloved,
Because most helpless; yet no prayer will move
The felon merchant to admit the child
To share the fetters which his father bind:
And now he gains upon the sounding oars
That guide his following course, and now the side
Eager he grasps, and, though still pushed away,
Still he returns, till frequent on his hands
He feels the bruising blow; then down he sinks,
Nor makes one faint endeavour for his life.
END OF THE FIRST PART.

67

II. PART II.

DIRE WAS THE TOSSING, DEEP THE GROANS: DESPAIR
BUSIEST FROM COUCH TO COUCH TENDED THE SICK.
PARADISE LOST.

Heave heave the anchor, on your handspikes rise!
Yo yea resounds amid the buzz confused
Ascending from the hold with groans and shrieks
That cannot be repressed; and now full sail
To catch the breeze, that scarce the canvass fills,
The floating herse nods onward o'er the waves.
But even yet the victims have not reached
The utmost pitch of misery, for the gale
With gentle sigh the canvass scarcely fills,
And all the hatches are full open thrown,
Giving free entrance to the breath of life:
Yet, in the' imperfect truce of corporal sufferance,
'Tis then that agony most keenly gnaws
The tortured soul: the father then deplores

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His infants left without or stay or shield
From fraud and rapine, save a mother's arm:—
‘And shall I never see my smiling boy,
‘Whose every look was sunshine to my breast?
‘And shall I never gaze upon that face,
‘Or watch with seemingly indifferent eye
‘His little sports? Ah now no more he'll sport;
‘No more he'll run to climb these fettered limbs;
‘No more the gentle pressure of his lips,
‘And hands my cheek soft-stroking, I shall feel
‘Now, now, he weeps, and calls on me in vain;
‘He is an orphan now; O could I die
‘And hover o'er his poor and friendless head!
‘Have white men children?
‘O may they live to see their infants crushed
‘Between the diving alligator's jaws.’
In such an hour as this the daughter thinks
Of her poor aged father. ‘Who (she moans)
‘Will sleepless watch, and raise his languid head,
‘Softly and patient as a daughter's hand?
‘Who now will listen to his tales of old,
‘With which he once beguiled my childhood's hours?’
Night comes apace, but darkness is forbid
The view of misery from itself to shroud.
A glimmering lamp's dim beam faintly displays
The rows of living corpses to the sight,

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As if the white men grudged that even one sense
Should cease to be the instrument of woe.
But misery exquisite the vital powers
Exhausts, till sleep, unhoped, weighs down at last
The weary eyelids of a favoured few.—
When thus the tragic scene of present things
Is shut, the visionary past unfolds,
Soothing with transient bliss the mourner's breast:
Again the father fancies that he's couched
Amid his children in their lowly hut;
Once more he fancies that he wakes and sees
The placid visage of his sleeping boy,
And then his eyes meek opening in a smile,
Followed by lisping accents of delight:
To clasp the child, he tries his shackled arms
To stretch; roused by the galling iron, he doubts,
He fears; the dread reality he feels;
Despair, despair comes rushing on his soul,
Like the dread cataract's din to one embarked
Upon a peaceful river, who forgets,—
Gliding along, from danger yet afar,
Entranced in pleasure with the goodly sight
Of lofty boughs, o'er-arching half the stream,
With melody of birds, upon these boughs,
That sing alternately and gaily plume
Their beauteous wings, and with the quiet lapse

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Of the smooth flood that bears him to his fate,—
Forgets the thundering precipice of foam
That boils below, till suddenly aroused,
He hears at once and views his dreadful doom.
But mental anguish is ere long absorbed
In hideous pangs that rack, excruciate,
The frame corporeal; for now the waves
Begin to heave and shew their distant crests;
The gathering clouds in meeting currents roll,
Contracting heaven's expanded canopy
Into a lurid vault. The sails are reefed;
All hatches closed; the coffined captives pant

When the scuttles are obliged to be shut, the gratings are not sufficient for airing the rooms. He (Dr. Trotter) never himself could breathe freely, unless immediately under the hatchway. He has seen the slaves drawing their breath with all those laborious and anxious efforts for life, which are observed in expiring animals, subjected by experiment to foul air, or in the exhausted receiver of an air pump. He has also seen them, when the tarpawlings have been inadvertently thrown over the gratings, attempting to heave them up, crying out in their own language, “We are dying.” On removing the tarpawlings and gratings, they would fly to the hatchway, with all the signs of terror and dread of suffocation. Many of them he has seen in a dying state, but some have recovered by being brought hither, or on the deck; others were irrecoverably lost by suffocation, having had no previous signs of indisposition.

Nearly the same accounts, as the above, are given by Messrs. Falconbridge, Wilson, Claxton, Morley, Town, and Hall. The slaves are described as dejected when brought on board; as having not so much room as a man in his coffin; as being in a violent perspiration or dew sweat; as complaining of heat; as fainting in consequence of it; and as going below at night apparently well, but found dead in the morning. Abridgment of the Evidence taken before a Select Committee of the House of Commons, in 1790 and 1791, p. 11.


For air; and in their various languages
Implore, unheard, that but a single board
Be raised: vain prayer, for now the beetling surge
Breaks o'er the bow, and boils along the deck.
Oh then the horrors of the den below!
Disease bursts forth, and, like the' electric shock

Such are the scenes going on in the slave vessels, from the time of the receipt of the slaves on board, to that of their arrival in their destined ports; during which time it may be supposed that a considerable loss, from mortality and suicide, has taken place.

The different evidences have given an account of this loss for their own voyages, as far as they could recollect it. The total number purchased appears to be 7904, and of the lost 2053. Hence more than a fourth perished.

The causes of the above mortality are described by Mr. Falconbridge to be sudden transitions from heat to cold, a putrid atmosphere, wallowing in their own excrements, and being shackled together, but particularly to a diseased mind: to thinking so much of their situation, says another; to melancholy, says a third; and to grief, says a fourth, for being carried away from their friends and country. Abstract of the Evidence, &c.


Sudden strikes through at once the prostrate ranks.
Fierce fever pours his lava from the heart
And burns through every vein; convulsion writhes
Foaming, and gnaws and champs his twisted arm;
Dire trismus bends his victim on the wheel
Of torment, rivets close the firm-screwed jaw
In fearful grin, and makes death lovely seem.
Dreadful the imprecations, dire the shrieks,

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That mingle with the maniac laugh; the gnash
Of teeth, delirium's fitful song, now gay,
Plaintive at times, then deeply sorrowful.
In such a scene Death deals the final blow,
In pity, not in wrath: 'tis he alone
That here can quench the fever's fire, unloose
The knotted tendon; he alone restores
The frantic mind, that soon as freed ascends
To Him who gave it being.
One endless day, one night that seemed a year,
The billows raged; so long the slaves, immured,
Struggled 'twixt life and death. At last the winds
Abate; subside the waves; the fastened boards
Unfold, and full o'erhead the hopeless eye
Sees, from his wooden couch, once more the sun
Dim through the cloud that to the topmast steams.
The dead are dragged above, and to the dead
Enchained ofttimes is dragged a living man.
The female captives next, freed from their cage,
Breathe the pure air, leading their little ones.
Oh what a sight! The miserable man,
Who sees his child among the wailing crowd,
Above its little head his shackled arms
Circling, enfolds it to his anguished breast.
Then comes the sad repast, and loathing lips
Are forced to share it. Some on death resolved

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All sustenance refuse; then creaks the screw
Of torture; then the knotted scourge resounds,

Others determine to destroy themselves, but effect their purpose in different ways.

Of these, some refuse sustenance and die. In the ships of surgeons Falconbridge, Wilson, and Trotter, and of Messrs. Millar and Town, are instances of their starving themselves to death. In all these they were compelled, some by whipping, and others by the thumb-screw, and other means, to take their food, but all punishment was ineffectual; they were determined to die. In the very act of chastisement, Mr. Wilson says, they have looked up at him, and said, with a smile, “Presently we shall be no more.” Abstract of the Evidence &c.


Soaking itself in blood: with aspect firm,
With such a look as triumphed on the face
Of Scævola fixed on his shrivelling hand,
The African his dreadful fate sustains,
And clings to his resolve: nature at last
Sinks under agony, and death's mild arm
The brandished lash arrests. Another yields,
Not to the furrowing scourge, or torture iron,
In vain applied, but to a kneeling wife
And infants kneeling suppliant by her side.
The boatswain now, unequal to his task,
Repeated oft, protracted long, demands
Assistance to his weary, flagging arm,—
When straight the Captain rolls his savage eye
Around the bustling crew, and bends it stern
Upon a youthful mariner: the youth
Shudders to hear the dæmon work assigned
To him; his hand, instinctively drawn back,
Shrinks from the offered instrument of blood.
Ah! now he thinks, ‘in evil hour I left,
‘With wandering spirit smit, fair Coila's hills,
‘And sought the sea.’ On Doona's banks he dwelt,
His parents' pride. The fear and love of God,
The love of all that lives, his dawning years

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Were taught, and oft, when, with exploring eye,
He roamed the bushy dingle, and had found
The well-hid prize, he thought upon the words,
Which in the sacred volume he had read,
Thou shalt not with the young ones take the dam,
But shalt in any wise let her go free:
Thus early had he mercy's lesson learnt:
And still by precept, but example more,
His parents bent his infant mind to pity.
Nor, when grown up, to aid his father's hand,
Did he forget, as o'er the furrowed field
He whistling drove the team, to spare the lash.
Oft now, at midnight watch, that furrowed field;
The loaning sweet which homeward from it led;
The old ash trees around the garden plat;
The heartsome roof round which, at gloamin hour,
With many a sudden turn the reremouse wheeled;
The pebble-bedded bourn in which he launched
His ship of sedge, (alas! 'twas then first rose
His seaward wish) and followed it far down,
Within the hearing of the warlock linn;—
These recollections soothe his sorrowing heart.
But who can paint the agony he proves
When brooding o'er the rueful parting day!
His father's faltered blessing, and the hand
Of tremulous grasp; a mother's cheerful look
Assumed, and giving way at last to tears;

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His truelove's sighs, her broken words of grief,
The vows exchanged, the speechless, last embrace,
And that sad look! that turning, farewell look!—
Of equal years with her, and such in shape
And stature, was a maid self doomed to death,
Whom shrinking timid from the brutal gaze,
Unpitying men suspended to the shrouds,
Holding before her eyes this only choice,
Food or a scourge; the pitying youth persists
To spurn the offered instrument of blood.
‘Sheer mutiny!’ (vociferates the wretch,
The self-appointed judge;) ‘haste, bind him up,
‘And let the trenching scourge at every stroke

Flogging did not commence with us till about the latitude 28°. It was talked of long before, but was withheld by the above-mentioned consideration. It no sooner made its appearance but it spread like a contagion. Wantonness, misconception, and ignorance, inflicted it without an appearance of remorse, and without fear of being answerable for the abuse of authority. This barbarous charge to the officers I myself heard given—‘You are now in a Guinea ship—no seaman, though you speak harshly, must dare to give you a saucy answer— that is out of the question; but if they look to displease you, knock them down.’ Stanfield's Letters. Appendix to his poem entitled the Guinea Voyage.


‘Be buried in his flesh, until the ribs,
‘Laid bare, disclose the pausing wheels of life.’
Infliction follows sentence; death winds up
The hideous tragedy, and friendly waves
The mangled corse fold in a watery shroud.
Is this the nursery 'twixt whose wooden walls

The vessel, as Mr. Falconbridge aptly and emphatically observes, was like a slaughter-house—blood, filth, misery, and disease. The chief mate lay dying, calling out for that comfort and assistance he had so often denied to others. He was glad to lay hold of me to bring him a little refreshment—no one else to take the smallest notice of his cries. The doctor was in the same condition, and making the same complaint. The second mate was lying on his back on the medicine-chest; his head hanging down over one end of it, his hair sweeping the deck, and clotted with the filth that was collected there; and in this unnoticed situation he died soon after I came on board.

On the poop the appearance was still more shocking—the remainder of the ship's crew stretched in the last stage of their sickness, without comfort, without refreshment, without attendance. There they lay, straining their weak voices with the most lamentable cries for a little water, and not a soul to afford them the smallest relief.

The chief mate, whom we brought off the coast, died soon; the second mate soon after: their united duties devolved upon me. While the latter was in his illness, he got up one night, made a noise, tumbled some things about the half-deck, untied a hammock, and played some other delirious but innocent tricks. The captain, being a little recovered at that time, came out, and knocked him down. I do not at this time remember the weapon, but I know his head was sadly cut, and bleeding—in short he was beat in a most dreadful manner; and, before the morning, he was dead. This man had not been many weeks on the coast, and left it in remarkably good health.


Are reared the men who shield Britannia's shores?
No; 'tis their prison, lazar-house, and bier.
Contagion spreads apace from man to man;
Nor the poor comforts of their piteous state
Are granted to the sick; no place have they
Whereon to lay them down and die in peace.
The seaman's swinging couch has given place
To human stowage; on the deck's bare board

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Or haply on a chest, he lies outstretched;
And, for the soothing voice and tender hand,
He hears reproach, and feels the brutal blow.
Suspicion is conviction, and the man,
Who scarce can raise his throbbing head, is doomed,
(As if he feigned disease) panting and pale,
To feel the harrowing stripes; he breathes his last!—
Dearth next approaches, handmaid of disease,
With slow but certain step: the measured draught
Of water is dealt out with cautious hand;
For now the sails hang wavering in the breeze;
The lambent waves rise gently on the prow;
His bulk the following sluth-hound of the deep
Rolls, gambolling, and shews his vault-like gorge;
And every sign foretels a lasting calm.
Fainting, the breeze dies gradually away,
Till not a breath is felt; the vessel lies
Moveless, as if enchased in Arctic ice,
While fierce, with perpendicular rays, the sun
Withers up life, and from within thirst burns
Unquenched: O then, amid the earnest prayer
For death, the tongue, parched, to the mouth's roof cleaves:
Right busily death runs his welcome rounds,
The aged man now striking, now the youth,
And now the infant in its mother's arms.
There was (almost incredible the tale!)

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A wretch whose lips condemned a mother's hands
To drop her murdered infant in the deep.
Murdered! yes foully murdered, is each one
Who dies a captive in the horrid trade.
And yet there have been men, and still there are,
Who vindicate such murder; men who preach
That gain and custom sanction every crime.
Slight mitigation of the seaman's lot
The shades of evening bring: but who in words
The aggravated misery can unfold
Of the poor slaves, who, thrust below, endure
The double deprivation, water, air!—
With horror at the picture fancy draws,
Language, appalled, shrinks faltering from the task.
O God! how large a portion of the ills
Of human kind derives itself from man!
Deeming the land too narrow for his crimes,
He penetrates the desarts of the main.
How sad the contrast 'twixt that floating scene,
That little world of misery condensed,
By man created, and the view around
Of Nature's works! how peaceful ocean lies
Unseen, reflecting all the heavenly host,
While to the rolling eye, above, below,
Wide sparkles, not a single hemisphere,
But one vast concave globe of radiant orbs.

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Seven days and nights the deep a mirror lay
To sun, and moon, and stars; and ere the wind
Began again to whisper through the shrouds,
The living scarce were equal to the work
Of burying the dead: the dying hear
The frequent plunge, and clasp their hands in prayer
That their appointed hour may be the next;
Contending sharks, full many a fathom down,
Are seen in act of tearing, limb from limb,
The sinking corpse, that finds a living grave.
END OF THE SECOND PART.

79

III. PART III.

HINC EXAUDIRI GEMITUS, ET SÆVA SONARE
VERBERA: TUM STRIDOR FERRI, TRACTÆQUE CATENÆ.
ÆN. VI.

Land! land! the sea-boy, from the topmast height,
Proclaims, in feeble voice, scarce audible:
Land, land, (most blessed sound to sailors' ears!)
Flies on the wings of joy from man to man.
Alas! 'tis only to the free a sound
Of joy; invigorated by that sound,
They mount the shrouds, and gaze until the eye
Aches at the gladsome sight; the dying man
Raises his languid head, sinks down again,
Nor feels the general joy; for well he knows
That, should he reach the shore, 'twill be his grave.
The crowded haven opens to the view,
And soon within the pier the vessel lies.
The remnants of the cargo are borne forth,

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And warehoused, till, with food and drugs vamped up,
They're fitted for the market; then, led out,
They prove the misery of a second sale;
And those few ties of kindred, which by death
Have not been severed, now at last are torn.
O 'tis most piteous to behold the child,—
A daughter to a widowed mother left,—
Kneel to the hardened purchaser, and clasp

‘Observing their extreme agitation, I was led particularly to notice their conduct, as influenced by the terror of being torn from each other, and I may truly say, that I witnessed a just and faithful representation of.....the distressed mother! and such as might bid defiance even to the all-imitative powers of a Siddons! for the fears of the parent, lest she should be separated from her children, or these from each other, were anxious and watchful beyond all that imagination could paint, or the most vivid fancy pourtray. When any one approached their little group, or chanced to look towards them with the attentive eye of a purchaser, the children, in broken sobs, crouched nearer together, and the tearful mother, in agonizing impulse, instantly fell down before the spectator, bowed herself to the earth, and kissed his feet; then, alternately clinging to his legs, and pressing her children to her bosom, she fixed herself upon her knees, clasped her hands together, and, in anguish, cast up a look of humble petition, which might have found its way even to the heart of a Caligula!—and, thus, in Nature's truest language, did the afflicted parent urge the strongest appeal to his compassion, while she implored the purchaser, in dealing out to her the hard lot of slavery, to spare her the additional pang of being torn from her children;—to forbear exposing her to the accumulated agonies which would result from forcing those asunder, whom the all-wise disposer of events had bound together by the most sacred ties of nature and affection. Pinckard's Notes on the West Indies, Vol. III. p. 357.


His knees in agony, praying by signs
Not to be parted: stern the ruffian spurns
The grasp of filial love: her hands unloosed
Clasp in a last embrace her mother's neck,
And scarcely yield to force of many arms.
Dispersed, with eyes unlifted from the ground,
They take their various ways, to various tasks condemned.
Most part, with hoe in hand, fill up the ranks
That in the cane-field toiled, by suffering thinned.
Beneath the scorching ray, the aged man,
The tender maid, the boy, the nursing mother
Sinking beneath the double load, her work
And infant, all must ply an equal task,

But a nearer and more particular view of the manner of working may be necessary to those who have never seen a gang of Negroes at their work:

‘When employed in the labour of the field, as, for example, in holeing a cane piece, i. e. in turning up the ground with hoes into parallel trenches, for the reception of the cane plants, the Slaves of both sexes, from twenty, perhaps, to four score in number, are drawn out in a line, like troops on a parade, each with a hoe in his hand; and close to them in the rear is stationed a driver, or several drivers, in numbers duly proportioned to that of the gang. Each of these drivers, who are always the most active and vigorous Negroes on the estate, has in his hand, or coiled round his neck, from which by extending the handle it can be disengaged in a moment, a long, thick, and strongly platted whip, called a cart whip, the report of which is as loud, and the lash as severe, as those of the whips in common use with our waggoners, and which he has authority to apply at the instant when his eye perceives an occasion, without any previous warning. Thus disposed, their work begins, and continues without interruption for a certain number of hours, during which, at the peril of the drivers, an adequate portion of land must be holed.

‘As the trenches (continues our Author) are generally rectilinear, and the whole line of holers advance together, it is necessary that every hole or section of the trench should be finished in equal time with the rest; and if any one or more Negroes were allowed to throw in the hoe with less rapidity or energy than their companions in other parts of the line, it is obvious that the work of the latter must be suspended; or else, such part of the trench as is passed over by the former, will be more imperfectly formed than the rest. It is therefore the business of the drivers not only to urge forward the whole gang with sufficient speed, but sedulously to watch that all in the line, whether male or female, old or young, strong or feeble, work as nearly as possible in equal time, and with equal effect. The tardy stroke must be quickened, and the languid invigorated, and the whole line made to dress, in the military phrase, as it advances. No breathing time, no resting on the hoe, no pause of languor, to be repaid by brisker exertion on return to work, can be allowed to individuals: all must work, or pause together.’ Wilberforce's Letter on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, 3d Edit. p. 66.


Without regard to age, or strength, or sex;
Must ply and must perform; the flagging step
That breaks the line, or arm that slurs its work,
Is prompted by the driver's biting lash,
And tears and blood bedew the rising plants.

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Nor is it only in the field of toil
The whip resounds; no, every petty fault
Is duly journalled, till the wretch, whose trade
Is torture, comes in stated round, with cry
Of slaves to flog! then stretched upon the ground,
The trembling victim, to the ringbolts fixed,
Receives at once the sentence and the stroke.
In agony the soil he gnaws; his shrieks,

‘The corporal punishment of slaves is so frequent, that instead of exciting the repugnant sensations, felt by Europeans on first witnessing it, scarcely does it produce, in the breasts of those long accustomed to the West Indies, even the slightest feeling of compassion. The lady I have above alluded to appears of good natural disposition, and in no degree disposed to general cruelty; but the frequency of the sight has rendered her callous to its common influence upon the feelings. Being one morning at her house, while sitting in conversation, we suddenly heard the loud cries of a negro suffering under the whip. Mrs. --- expressed surprise on observing me shudder at his shrieks, and you will believe that I was in utter astonishment to find her treat his sufferings as matter of amusement. It proved that the punishment proceeded from the arm of the lady's husband, and fell upon one of her own slaves; and, can you believe that on learning this, she exclaimed with a broad smile, ‘Aha! it will do him good! a little wholesome flagellation will refresh him.—It will sober him.—It will open his skin, and make him alert. If Y--- was to give it them all, it would be of service to them!’

‘I could not compliment the lady upon her humanity. The loud clang of the whip continued, and the poor imploring negro as loudly cried, ‘Oh Massa, Massa—God a'mighty—God bless you Massa! I beg you pardon! Oh! Massa, Oh! I beg you pardon! Oh! God a'mighty—God bless you!’— Still the whip sounded aloud, and still the lady cried ‘Aye, it's very necessary!’ Pinckard's Notes on the West Indies, Vol. II. p. 192.

‘As for the punishments of Owners, when General T. saw the shameless and cruel flogging, on the public parade, of two very decent women, who, while waiting at table where he was visiting, had been ordered by their mistress, in spite of his expostulations, to go with the jumper (or public flogger,) to receive a dozen, each stroke of which brought flesh with them, we do not find that the incident excited any surprise or attention in any one but the General himself. If such could be the treatment sanctioned by public opinion, and general feeling, of decent young women, publicly and in the face of day, what consideration would be likely to be paid to the comforts and feelings of the field Negroes, who are regarded as a far inferior race to the domestics, especially when there are no officious bystanders to witness what may take place?’ Wilberforce's Letter on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, 3d Edit. p. 68.


Heard in the festive hall, are drowned in peals
Of mirth; and, should a stranger's voice presume
To plead for mercy, even the female hand
With taunt demoniac fills the cup brim-full,
And sends it to give spirit to the arm
That brings out music from a pipe so rude.
And what the crime that merits such a doom?
Perhaps some word less servile than beseems
The lips of slave addressed to tyrant's ear:
Perhaps a look of conscious worth and pride,
Interpreted contempt by him who feels
How well he merits that contempt he dreads.
What horrid cries, unlike aught earthly, pierce

‘A gentleman (Mr. Ross, as appeared in evidence), while he was walking along heard the shrieks of a female, issuing from a barn or outhouse: and as they were much too violent to be excited by ordinary punishment, he was prompted to go near and see what could be the matter. On looking in he perceived a young female had up to a beam by her wrists entirely naked, and in the act of involuntary writhing and swinging, while the author of her torture was standing below her with a lighted torch in his hand, which he applied to all parts of her body, as it approached him.’ Fox's speech from report of the debate, on a motion for the abolition of the Slave Trade, on the 18th and 19th of April, 1791.


The astonished ear, and make hushed midnight frown
A deeper gloom! from yonder waving light
They seem to come: O what a sight o'erpowers
The shuddering sense! a youthful female writhes,
Hung by one hand, while still the other strives

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To ward, with shrivelling grasp, the blazing torch;
But soon the hand, sealed up in moveless clutch,
Avails not for defence; and now the flame
With hissing noise clings round her heaving breast.—
Each human feeling outraged, nature's laws
Reversed, the mother full of sorrow hears
Her new-born infant's cry, the test of life;
She knows the misery of the bondman's lot.
But what a scene of joy surrounds the grave,
The breach through which the prisoner has escaped!
With songs they celebrate the joyful day;
To mirthful songs they beat the covering sod,
Then in a ring join hands and dance around.
But brief their hour of melancholy joy;
The horn of labour breaks the mirthful ring
And summons to the field. Day after day
Ceaseless they toil; the Sabbath, called their own,
Is still their master's; respite it brings none
From toil; for on that day the narrow plat,
Whose produce furnishes the Negro's board,
Requires the hand of culture. Voice of prayer,
Heart-soothing psalmody, or preacher's words,
They never hear: their souls are left a waste,
Where slavery's weeds choke up each wholesome herb.
And is it for a system such as this,
That Britain sends devoted legions forth,

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The victims not of warfare but disease!
What is the clashing steel, or cannon's roar,
Death's toys and baubles! what the thundering surge,
Compared to pestilence's silent tread,
That like the angel sent through Pharaoh's land
(O would Britannia read the lesson right)
The bondman's dwelling passes o'er untouched!

‘But though the mind be naturally led to the Africans, as the greatest sufferers, yet, unless the Scripture be a forgery, it is not their cause only that I am pleading, but the cause of my Country. Yet let me not here be misconceived. It is not that I expect any visible and supernatural effects of the Divine vengeance; though, not to listen with seriousness to the accounts which have been brought us of late years from the Western hemisphere, as to a probable intimation of the Divine displeasure, would be to resolve to shut our ears against the warning voice of Providence. To mention no other particulars, a disease new in it's kind, and almost without example destructive in it's ravages, has been for some time raging in those very colonies which are the chief supporters of the traffic in human beings; a disease concerning which we scarcely know any thing, but that it does not affect the Negro race, and that we first heard of it after the horrors of the Slave Trade had been completely developed in the House of Commons, but developed in vain.’ Wilberforce's Letter on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, 3d Edit. p. 163.


What hecatombs of human beings die
Upon thy altar, Commerce! Ages hence
Thy bloody superstition will arouse
The horror of mankind, as now the rites
Almost incredible of Saturn's shrine,
At which the infant died to expiate
The parent's guilt. Behold that far-stretched line
Of Britain's sons in martial pomp arrayed,
With waving banners and the full accord
Of music, soul-inspiring power, approach
The farewell beach: and hark (a little year
Gone round) that solitary drum and fife,
And company of sunburnt visages,—
'Tis rightly named, The Skeleton returned.
END OF THE THIRD PART.
 

Vide evidence of General Tottenham, taken before the Committee of the House of Commons.


85

IV. PART IV.

‘AND THEY SHALL BUILD HOUSES AND INHABIT THEM; AND THEY SHALL PLANT VINEYARDS AND EAT THE FRUIT OF THEM. THEY SHALL NOT BUILD AND ANOTHER INHABIT; THEY SHALL NOT PLANT AND ANOTHER EAT.’ ISAIAH LXV. 21, 22.

Hail! Africa, restored to human rights!
Blest be the hand benign of him who stretched
The royal sceptre forth, and, with the touch
Electric of Britannia's will, consumed
The tyrant's chain, yet left the slave unscathed!
And blest, Columbia, be thy distant shores!
For they the peal with joy and freedom fraught
Re-echoed, till it reached the coast of blood,
And with redoubled thunder stunned the ear
Of Murder as he aimed the fatal blow.
Hail! Africa, to human rights restored!
Glad tidings of great joy to all who feel
For human kind! to him who sits at ease
And looks upon his children sport around

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In health and happiness, even him ye bring
Delight ne'er felt before: the dying saint,
Whose hymning voice of joy is fainter heard
And fainter still, like the ascending lark,
As nearer heaven he draws, hears the glad words,
And bursts into a louder strain of praise:
The aged cottager, on sabbath eve,
Amid his children and their children opes
That portion of the sacred book, which tells,
How with a mighty and an outstretched arm
The Lord delivered Israel from his bonds;
Then kneeling blesses God that now the curse
Of guiltless blood lies on this land no more.
Even they who ne'er behold the light of heaven
But through the grated ir'on, forget awhile
Their mournful fate; and mark a gleam of joy
Pass o'er each fellow captive's clouded brow.
Nor was the sympathy of joy confined
Within this narrow sphere; the tidings flew
To heaven on angel wings; loud then the peal
Of choiring seraphim arose; and bright
A radiance from the throne of God diffused,
Its lustre shed upon th'assembled throng.
But still imperfect is the work of love.
Ye generous band, united in the cause
Of liberty to Africa restored,

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O may your hands be strong, and hearts be firm
In that great cause! so may you reap the meed
Most grateful to your hearts, the glorious view
Of peace reviving, ignorance dispelled,
The arts improved, and, O most blessed thought!
That faith which trampled Slavery under foot,
And led captivity in captive chains,
Embraced by men in superstition sunk.
Already I behold the wicker dome,
To Jesus consecrated, humbly rise
Below the sycamore's wide spreading boughs:
Around the shapeless pillars twists the vine;
Flowers of all hues climb up the walls, and fill
The house of God with odours passing far
Sabean incense, while combined with notes
Most sweet, most artless, Zion's songs ascend,
And die in cadence soft; the preacher's voice
Succeeds; their native tongue the converts hear
In deep attention fixed, all but that child
Who eyes the hanging cluster, yet withholds,
In reverence profound, his little hand.
The faith of Jesus far and wide expands,
Till warfare, humanised, assumes the garb
Of mercy; captives now no more are slaves;
No more the negro dreads the white man's eye;
No more, from hatred to the teacher, spurns

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Instruction: gladly he receives the boon
Of science and of art. What ecstasy
O'erpowers his faculties when first he sees
The wonders of the telescopic power;
The woody mountain side is brought so near,
He reaches forth to pull the loaded spray;—
But when, directed to the distant main,
The veering tube converts a little speck
Into a ship full sail, dashing the brine,
He recollecting shudders at the sight,
Till turning round he sees his teacher smile,
And reassured stoops to the magic glass.
Now will the triumph of thy plan benign
Be proved, O Lancaster: old age and youth,
The father and the child, will docile sit
And learn their common task, the glorious power
Of seeing thought, of seeing thought conceived
In distant ages and in distant climes;—
Of speaking through the storm athwart the deep.
Where scattered hovels lay, fair towns arise
With turrets, spires, and chiming bells that call
The crowding throngs to fill the house of prayer.
Where erst the native plied the light canoe,
He steers the loaded ship, no longer deep
With human freight. Nor useful arts alone
Are cherished; music from afar is borne,

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Wafted by northern gales; and on the banks
Of Gambia's tide the Scottish seaman starts
To hear Lochaber's strain or Flodden field,
Then mounts the mast to hide the bursting tear.
The rugged accents, gradually refined,
Come forth a language, musical and full,
Sonorous, gentle, forceful, rapid, bold,
As suits the changes of the poet's lay,—
Nor yet unpliant to a foreign strain:—
Yes, Campbell, thy imperishable strains
Shall live in languages but now half formed,
And tell the slave-descended race the tale
Of Africa restored to human rights.
The intellectual powers emancipate,
Display an elasticity unknown
To men who pace the round of polished life:
Discovery, eagle-winged, to heaven ascends,
And sees, beyond the ocean that now bounds
The human ken, a world of nature's works
Unknown and unimagined yet by man.
And now, ye guardians of the sacred law
Which hails the sons of Africa as men,
Watch lest that law promulged by loud acclaim
All but unanimous of Britain's sons,
Be thwarted in its mild benignant course.
Or, if direct attempts should not be made,

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May not connivance, with her half-shut eyes,
Permit the culprits to elude the law!
May not the secret hint be understood,
‘Mark not the slave-ship; let her shape her course
‘Unhailed, unsearched:’ and may not some who hunt
Preferment through corruption's noisome sewers,
Obey the covert mandate? No, not one:
No British seaman owns a heart so base.
No, Hearts of Oak, by other ways pursue
Preferment's meed; the Sycophant's mean prayer
Ne'er soils their lips; they seek their high reward
In voice of thunder from their wooden walls.
But truce with censure's theme.
O that my voice,
To notes of praise unpractised and untuned,
I could but modulate to lofty strains
Of eulogy! then would I bear record
Of them who foremost stood in freedom's cause;
Of Benezet's enlightened early zeal;
The bold contempt with which the unfettered soul
Of Sharpe arraigned the pestilent response
Of law's high-priesthood, sanctioning an age
Of crimes, and paralyzing mercy's hand,
His dauntless arm that wielded nature's law,
And snatched the victim from the tyrant's gripe;
A Clarkson's every thought, and word, and deed,

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Devoted in humanity's behalf,
His watchings, perils, toils by night and day,
His life one ceaseless act of doing good;
The eloquence pathetic and sublime,
And spirit undismayed, of Wilberforce,
Erect when foiled; the virtuous use of power
By Grenville on the side of Justice ranged;
The fervent beam of Gloucester's royal smile;
The hallowed wish of Fox's dying hour,—
Bequest most sacred to the freeman's heart,
Bequest, though faltered with his latest breath,
More powerful than the full careering storm
Of eloquence that thundered from his tongue.
END OF THE FOURTH AND LAST PART.