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Poems on Various Subjects

with some Essays in Prose, Letters to Correspondents, &c. and A Treatise on Health. By Samuel Bowden
 
 

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An EPITAPH,
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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183

An EPITAPH,

On a Negro Servant, Who died at Governor Phipps's, At Haywood, near Westbury.

European vain—mock not my hue,
Nor ridicule a slave;
Death soon, like me, will blacken you,
In darkness, and the grave.
Tho' nature o'er my swarthy skin
Diffus'd a sable blot;
Yet was my mind unstain'd within,
And free from vicious spot.
It boots not here, or black, or white,
All colours suit the tomb;
Black guests, and Æthiopian night,
Sit round this funeral room.

184

Releas'd from servitude, and woe,
Here all my toils are o'er,
To some green island I shall go,
And see my native shore.
Tho' with reluctant mind I part,
From my kind master here;
Yet my old country has my heart,
And liberty is dear.
There in some shady, Indian grove,
I shall forever stray;
Or o'er the pathless mountain rove,
And hunt for savage prey.
It matters not, or rich, or poor,
But 'tis the honest man;
Whether he lives on India's shore
In Europe, or Japan.
Live well—nor tremble at the grave,
The good shall live again;
The wicked man's the truest slave,
And death a tyrant then.