 | The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces |  |
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THE SLAVE.
“He that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be
“found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.”
Exod. xxi. 16.
“found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.”
Exod. xxi. 16.
“The law is not made for a righteous man, but for the
“lawless and disobedient:—for manslayers—for menstealers—.”
1 Tim. i. 9, 10.
“lawless and disobedient:—for manslayers—for menstealers—.”
1 Tim. i. 9, 10.
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TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq. M. P. ONE OF THE DIRECTORS OF THE SIERRA LEONE COMPANY, &c.
Why bows the Muse to Mercy's favourite son?
Why flows the verse to Wilberforce's name?
'Tis not that aught, her feeble skill may frame,
Can swell the glorious guerdon he hath won.
For what to him, who th' onward course hath run,
Is breath of human praise? His nobler aim
Th' approving voice of conscience, and th' acclaim
Of quiring angels, and his Lord's “Well done.”
Why flows the verse to Wilberforce's name?
'Tis not that aught, her feeble skill may frame,
Can swell the glorious guerdon he hath won.
For what to him, who th' onward course hath run,
Is breath of human praise? His nobler aim
Th' approving voice of conscience, and th' acclaim
Of quiring angels, and his Lord's “Well done.”
Yet is it meet (since not for pastime vain
The heav'nly Muse th' Almighty Father gave)
To grace desert she breathe her loveliest strain;
And hail the man, who long hath toil'd to save
Britannia's crown from foul oppression's stain,
His country's friend, and patron of the slave.
The heav'nly Muse th' Almighty Father gave)
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And hail the man, who long hath toil'd to save
Britannia's crown from foul oppression's stain,
His country's friend, and patron of the slave.
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THE SLAVE.
THE ARGUMENT.
Subject proposed. v. 1. Invocation of Justice, Charity, and Faith. 11. Address to my Country. 28. Uncivilized state of Africa. 42. Consequent inutility of her natural advantages. 58. Good qualities of the Negro. 66. Courage and gentleness. 72. Domestic attachments. 80. Love of country. 86. General benevolence. 100. A wish expressed that England would improve the state of Africa by introducing civilization, law, and religion. 110. Is this her triumph? 124. Opposite effects of her intercourse with Africa. 130. Effects of the slave-trade on individuals, 144. and generally on the country. 148. Fertility and happiness of sequestered spots, to which its effects have not reached. 156. Desolation of the coast. 163. And of every part, where any intercourse with Europeans or with their agents prevails. 179. Principal methods by which slaves are procured. 187. Misery of the African, on being enslaved. 199. Horrors of the middle passage. 215. Arrival in the West Indies. 249. Beautiful scenery. 253. Sale and subsequent treatment of the slaves. 267. Their misery. 287. Comparison with the British peasant. 297. Total dependence of the slave on his master's pleasure. 307. Effect of slavery in debasing and brutifying the mind; 317. leading to abject submission, suicide, or insurrection. 328. Rising of the slaves in Jamaica
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May claim from virtue's eye the generous tear,
With shame and grief the swelling heart inspire,
With pity melt, with indignation fire;
'Tis Man, created by his Maker free,
Torn by his fellow man from liberty;
To endless hopeless servitude consign'd;
His body shackled, and debas'd his mind;
And his high soul, ordain'd to soar the sky,
Sunk to a level with the beasts that die.
Be he my theme. I ask no fabled aid,
Nor Delian seer, nor Heliconian maid.
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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!
And Thou, among the nations seated high,
Queen of the lion-heart and eagle-eye,
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And deem the sorrows of the slave their own;
If Briton-born, and nurtur'd at thy breast,
True to the lore on all thy race imprest,
A man, I suffer when my brethren bleed;
A free-man, freedom's outrag'd rights I plead;
And dare assert, in injur'd Afric's cause,
Of heav'nly Truth the violated laws:
Think not with foul and parricidal art
I aim the dagger at a parent's heart;
Nor blame the hand, which strikes, the slave to free,
E'en tho' the stroke, my country, light on thee.
Alas for Afric! By the western flood
Long had she sat in melancholy mood.
Appall'd she listen'd to the fearful sound
Of warriors' shouts, and monsters prowling round:
With wishful look she eyed the distant main;
At hand she gaz'd on many a sandy plain,
On many a deep morass, and tangled wood,
Loud howling waste, and shapeless solitude.
She heard not Law her heav'nly descant sing:
She saw not Science plume her golden wing:
She view'd the sun, the ocean, and the sky;
Ah! wherefore view'd? unable to descry
Him, in the hollow of his ample hand
Who weigh'd the waters, and the mountains spann'd,
Bade the fair moon the brow of eve adorn,
And op'd the radiant eyelid of the morn.
Long had she sat in melancholy mood.
Appall'd she listen'd to the fearful sound
Of warriors' shouts, and monsters prowling round:
With wishful look she eyed the distant main;
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On many a deep morass, and tangled wood,
Loud howling waste, and shapeless solitude.
She heard not Law her heav'nly descant sing:
She saw not Science plume her golden wing:
She view'd the sun, the ocean, and the sky;
Ah! wherefore view'd? unable to descry
Him, in the hollow of his ample hand
Who weigh'd the waters, and the mountains spann'd,
Bade the fair moon the brow of eve adorn,
And op'd the radiant eyelid of the morn.
What then avail'd the stamp divine imprest,
His Maker's image, on her offspring's breast?
Ah! what avail'd the spark of heav'nly flame,
The gentle spirit, and the manly frame?
What, her rich gums from fragrant groves distill'd,
With teeming herds her palmy mountains fill'd,
The ivory stores her pathless woods infold,
Ambrosial gales, and streams that flame with gold?
His Maker's image, on her offspring's breast?
Ah! what avail'd the spark of heav'nly flame,
The gentle spirit, and the manly frame?
What, her rich gums from fragrant groves distill'd,
With teeming herds her palmy mountains fill'd,
The ivory stores her pathless woods infold,
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But tho' involv'd in gloom, and unrefin'd
The native graces of the Negro's mind,
Fair breaks its lustre on the pensive eye;
Like gleams of sunshine in an April sky,
Or flow'rs, at random thrown by nature's hand
To deck with beauty a neglected land.
The native graces of the Negro's mind,
Fair breaks its lustre on the pensive eye;
Like gleams of sunshine in an April sky,
Or flow'rs, at random thrown by nature's hand
To deck with beauty a neglected land.
If foes assail him, his the soul to dare;
Beset with torments, his the strength to bear;
And his, when hush'd the storms of danger cease,
The smile of friendship and the voice of peace.
Fierce as th' Atlantic waves, when tempests sweep;
Or placid, as the slumber of the deep:
Or like the mighty elephant, that reigns,
Mildest of beasts, in wide Kaarta's plains.
Beset with torments, his the strength to bear;
And his, when hush'd the storms of danger cease,
The smile of friendship and the voice of peace.
Fierce as th' Atlantic waves, when tempests sweep;
Or placid, as the slumber of the deep:
Or like the mighty elephant, that reigns,
Mildest of beasts, in wide Kaarta's plains.
Dear is the hut, in which his childhood play'd;
And dear the shelter of his plantain shade:
('Twas here he laid his father's bones to rest;
'Twas here he clasp'd his consort to his breast;
'Twas here, reclining on her neck, his child
Reach'd to its sire its little arms, and smil'd:)
But dear o'er all the land which gave him breath,
His joy, while living; and his hope in death.
From her and freedom torn, he pines away
In dreams by night, in frantic grief by day,
Disdaining life, and obstinate to die:
Then to lov'd scenes of transport will he fly;
Again with many a lost companion rove
The fragrant walks of Zara's orange grove;
Through Manding's wilds the antelope pursue;
Down Lagos' current guide the light canoe;
Bound to the harp in Fantyn's martial dance,
Swell the loud hymn, and poise the ebon lance;
At ease by Gambia's golden flood recline;
Or quaff on Ambris' banks the palmy wine.
And dear the shelter of his plantain shade:
('Twas here he laid his father's bones to rest;
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'Twas here, reclining on her neck, his child
Reach'd to its sire its little arms, and smil'd:)
But dear o'er all the land which gave him breath,
His joy, while living; and his hope in death.
From her and freedom torn, he pines away
In dreams by night, in frantic grief by day,
Disdaining life, and obstinate to die:
Then to lov'd scenes of transport will he fly;
Again with many a lost companion rove
The fragrant walks of Zara's orange grove;
Through Manding's wilds the antelope pursue;
Down Lagos' current guide the light canoe;
Bound to the harp in Fantyn's martial dance,
Swell the loud hymn, and poise the ebon lance;
At ease by Gambia's golden flood recline;
Or quaff on Ambris' banks the palmy wine.
Yet can he feel the sacred ties, that bind
The scatter'd brotherhood of human kind;
And when the rains descend, and whirlwinds rave,
Round Sego's walls by Niger's ample wave,
Can welcome to his hospitable door
The wand'ring stranger, shelterless and poor;
Nor heed the colour of his guest; but spread
The cocoa board, and strew the rushy bed;
Beside the couch his midnight vigil keep,
And lull with plaintive song the white man's sleep.
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And when the rains descend, and whirlwinds rave,
Round Sego's walls by Niger's ample wave,
Can welcome to his hospitable door
The wand'ring stranger, shelterless and poor;
Nor heed the colour of his guest; but spread
The cocoa board, and strew the rushy bed;
Beside the couch his midnight vigil keep,
And lull with plaintive song the white man's sleep.
O prospect bright, and heav'nly fair, to see
The white man quit his debt of charity!
O glorious boast for England! more divine
Than all the laurels, which her brows intwine!
For Afric's wrongs the pitying thought to feel;
Her woes to solace; and her wounds to heal;
To rear the peopled city's tow'ring pile;
To bid in peace the shelter'd hamlet smile;
With plenty clothe the vale and mountain's head;
The decent joys of social life to spread;
To bind her sons in order's golden chain;
To wake from heathen tongues the rapturous strain
Of praise and holy comfort; and abroad
Spread the glad tidings of the Saviour God.
The white man quit his debt of charity!
O glorious boast for England! more divine
Than all the laurels, which her brows intwine!
For Afric's wrongs the pitying thought to feel;
Her woes to solace; and her wounds to heal;
To rear the peopled city's tow'ring pile;
To bid in peace the shelter'd hamlet smile;
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The decent joys of social life to spread;
To bind her sons in order's golden chain;
To wake from heathen tongues the rapturous strain
Of praise and holy comfort; and abroad
Spread the glad tidings of the Saviour God.
Is this her triumph? O'er the swarming coast
Does grateful Afric pour her sable host,
To greet fair Albion's long-expected sails;
To lead the strangers to their peaceful vales;
And, while with kindling zeal their bosoms glow,
To bless the men, from whom their blessings flow?
Does grateful Afric pour her sable host,
To greet fair Albion's long-expected sails;
To lead the strangers to their peaceful vales;
And, while with kindling zeal their bosoms glow,
To bless the men, from whom their blessings flow?
Is this her triumph? Ah! no joyous hail
From grateful Afric greets fair Albion's sail:
No sable nations throng the echoing shore:
No peaceful valleys spread their friendly store:
But groans instead, and curses deep resound,
And death and desolation gloom around.
From grateful Afric greets fair Albion's sail:
No sable nations throng the echoing shore:
No peaceful valleys spread their friendly store:
But groans instead, and curses deep resound,
And death and desolation gloom around.
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On Congo's or Angola's spicy shore,
Or Koromantyn's sands of golden ore,
Or northward, where to swell th' Atlantic deep
Majestic floods thro' Senegambia sweep,
Before them horrour, and despair behind,
Speed to their task the stealers of mankind.
Their's is the honied tongue, and specious smile;
The open outrage; and the covert wile:
'Tis their's to quench the intellectual light,
And whelm the negro's mind in grosser night:
'Tis their's to rend with impious force apart
The ties, which nature winds around his heart:
But most 'tis their's to spread the woes afar,
The crimes and horrours of intestine war!
Not with more sweepy sway, or more deform,
O'er Afric breaks the equinoctial storm;
When from the south the mad tornadoes rise,
Unlock the springs, and burst the flood-gates of the skies.
Or Koromantyn's sands of golden ore,
Or northward, where to swell th' Atlantic deep
Majestic floods thro' Senegambia sweep,
Before them horrour, and despair behind,
Speed to their task the stealers of mankind.
Their's is the honied tongue, and specious smile;
The open outrage; and the covert wile:
'Tis their's to quench the intellectual light,
And whelm the negro's mind in grosser night:
'Tis their's to rend with impious force apart
The ties, which nature winds around his heart:
But most 'tis their's to spread the woes afar,
The crimes and horrours of intestine war!
Not with more sweepy sway, or more deform,
O'er Afric breaks the equinoctial storm;
When from the south the mad tornadoes rise,
Unlock the springs, and burst the flood-gates of the skies.
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O, bear me to sequester'd coverts, plac'd
Deep, deep amid the solitary waste!
There, distant from the commerce-haunted shore,
There where their streams no sail-clad rivers pour,
Fair fertile spots the culturing hand confess,
Secur'd within the sandy wilderness,
Like verdant islands in a stormy sea;
There peace and plenty dwell, for man is free,
And innocence is there, and cheerful industry.
Deep, deep amid the solitary waste!
There, distant from the commerce-haunted shore,
There where their streams no sail-clad rivers pour,
Fair fertile spots the culturing hand confess,
Secur'd within the sandy wilderness,
Like verdant islands in a stormy sea;
There peace and plenty dwell, for man is free,
And innocence is there, and cheerful industry.
Ah! gentle tribes, in safe seclusion blest,
May never Europe violate your rest!
Be never your's by fatal proof to know
Your brethren's lot of infamy and woe!
Nor envy ye, whom trackless wilds restrain,
Their fairer station by the neighb'ring main;
Their richer meads; and streams profound, that lave
More ample vales with fertilizing wave.
In vain o'er seas (by Providence design'd
In bonds of amity to knit mankind,
To waft inventive art from zone to zone,
And bless the climes with treasures not their own)
Its freight to them the gallant vessel bears;
And richer meads in vain, and fruitful streams are their's.
Darkness and woe beset the cheerless strand,
And commerce visits, but to blast, the land.
May never Europe violate your rest!
Be never your's by fatal proof to know
Your brethren's lot of infamy and woe!
Nor envy ye, whom trackless wilds restrain,
Their fairer station by the neighb'ring main;
Their richer meads; and streams profound, that lave
More ample vales with fertilizing wave.
In vain o'er seas (by Providence design'd
In bonds of amity to knit mankind,
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And bless the climes with treasures not their own)
Its freight to them the gallant vessel bears;
And richer meads in vain, and fruitful streams are their's.
Darkness and woe beset the cheerless strand,
And commerce visits, but to blast, the land.
Mark! where their baneful arts the spoilers shed,
O'er every clime is devastation spread!
Hark to the sounds of woe, that echo wide!
By Saara's sands, on Komri's mooned side,
Mid vales, where Niger rolls his secret flood,
Intent on rapine, prodigal of blood,
Thine Av'rice, Europe, preys on lands unknown;
Thy bribes prevail; and Afric's millions groan.
Kings, lur'd by thee, forget their people's claim,
And yield a father's, for a traitor's, name:
While rous'd by mutual wrongs to mutual rage,
In open war contiguous tribes engage;
Or, couch'd in foul and midnight ambuscade,
With flames the slumb'ring hamlet's rest invade,
Surprize their weak and unsuspecting prey,
And tear from scenes of former bliss away;
Far from the charm of each domestic tie;
Far from the pity of a kindred eye;
Beneath a tyrant's lawless scourge to mourn,
Inthrall'd by terror, and repaid with scorn.
O'er every clime is devastation spread!
Hark to the sounds of woe, that echo wide!
By Saara's sands, on Komri's mooned side,
Mid vales, where Niger rolls his secret flood,
Intent on rapine, prodigal of blood,
Thine Av'rice, Europe, preys on lands unknown;
Thy bribes prevail; and Afric's millions groan.
Kings, lur'd by thee, forget their people's claim,
And yield a father's, for a traitor's, name:
While rous'd by mutual wrongs to mutual rage,
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Or, couch'd in foul and midnight ambuscade,
With flames the slumb'ring hamlet's rest invade,
Surprize their weak and unsuspecting prey,
And tear from scenes of former bliss away;
Far from the charm of each domestic tie;
Far from the pity of a kindred eye;
Beneath a tyrant's lawless scourge to mourn,
Inthrall'd by terror, and repaid with scorn.
Ye cooling streams; ye waving palms, that spread
Your broad-leav'd umbrage o'er the captive's shed;
O hills; O valleys; and thou sacred well,
Sweet to his lip as liquid honey, tell;
How sad along the melancholy air
He breath'd his groans in agony of pray'r;
How oft he lifted to the conscious skies
(Alas! he could no more) his burning eyes.
But nought his groans, that load the mournful gale,
And nought his eyes, for mercy rais'd, avail
To melt the ruthless spoiler. O, accurst
Of baleful gold the heart-perverting thirst!
That rend'st the freeman from his native plain,
Wind'st round his struggling limbs the galling chain,
Nor heed'st the anguish of a father's pray'r,
The orphan's cries, the widow's dumb despair.
Your broad-leav'd umbrage o'er the captive's shed;
O hills; O valleys; and thou sacred well,
Sweet to his lip as liquid honey, tell;
How sad along the melancholy air
He breath'd his groans in agony of pray'r;
How oft he lifted to the conscious skies
(Alas! he could no more) his burning eyes.
But nought his groans, that load the mournful gale,
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To melt the ruthless spoiler. O, accurst
Of baleful gold the heart-perverting thirst!
That rend'st the freeman from his native plain,
Wind'st round his struggling limbs the galling chain,
Nor heed'st the anguish of a father's pray'r,
The orphan's cries, the widow's dumb despair.
But tho' from country, home, and kindred torn;
Of hope, the wretch's privilege, forlorn;
Denied in woe to clasp his infant race;
Denied the comfort of a last embrace;
And doom'd to tremble at a tyrant's nod,
Writhe at the lash, and kiss the vengeful rod:
Yet Mercy, mindful whence his griefs began,
Bends o'er the form of the degraded man,
Wipes with soft touch his sorrows, as they start,
And whispers solace to his bleeding heart.
Of hope, the wretch's privilege, forlorn;
Denied in woe to clasp his infant race;
Denied the comfort of a last embrace;
And doom'd to tremble at a tyrant's nod,
Writhe at the lash, and kiss the vengeful rod:
Yet Mercy, mindful whence his griefs began,
Bends o'er the form of the degraded man,
Wipes with soft touch his sorrows, as they start,
And whispers solace to his bleeding heart.
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Is such thy thought? Ah! turn thy streaming eye,
Where in yon bark the countless victims lie;
Where rank infection broods with venom'd breath,
And bathes their temples in the dews of death.
There many a carcase, fest'ring in its gore;
And many a heart, that soon shall throb no more:
And here in horrid fellowship are laid,
Link'd in one chain, the living and the dead.
Where in yon bark the countless victims lie;
Where rank infection broods with venom'd breath,
And bathes their temples in the dews of death.
There many a carcase, fest'ring in its gore;
And many a heart, that soon shall throb no more:
And here in horrid fellowship are laid,
Link'd in one chain, the living and the dead.
Peace to the dead! his mortal course is done!
To other climes th' immortal part is flown.
High rapt perchance upon an angel's wing,
It soars where seraphs touch the golden string,
In heav'nly bliss, a spirit pure, to glow,
And find that mercy, man denied below.
To other climes th' immortal part is flown.
High rapt perchance upon an angel's wing,
It soars where seraphs touch the golden string,
In heav'nly bliss, a spirit pure, to glow,
And find that mercy, man denied below.
But O for them, who still survive to bear
The pangs and griefs of comfortless despair.
In vain they strive their shackled hands to wring:
In vain the piteous song of sorrow sing:
Or gaze where Afric's vanish'd pleasures dwell,
And weep with straining eyes a last farewell:
Or, starting wild from short and broken sleep,
Howl to the hollow murmur of the deep:
Or plunge indignant in the circling wave,
Where pain can vex no more, nor man enslave.
The pangs and griefs of comfortless despair.
In vain they strive their shackled hands to wring:
In vain the piteous song of sorrow sing:
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And weep with straining eyes a last farewell:
Or, starting wild from short and broken sleep,
Howl to the hollow murmur of the deep:
Or plunge indignant in the circling wave,
Where pain can vex no more, nor man enslave.
But lo! smooth-swelling from the billowy tide
Jamaica's mountains rise in azure pride:
And o'er the shadowy clouds, that round them sweep,
Wave the tall woods on Cuba's ridgy steep.
Jamaica's mountains rise in azure pride:
And o'er the shadowy clouds, that round them sweep,
Wave the tall woods on Cuba's ridgy steep.
Now raise thy head, desponding captive; free
From all the horrours of the sultry sea,
Fly to the grassy vale, the cedar hill;
Catch the fresh breeze, and quaff the bounding rill;
Or to the wide Savanna haste away,
Where golden Autumn wears the bloom of May.
For thee th' anana springs: for thee shall bleed
The liquid amber of the dulcet reed:
The humming bird, to charm thy wond'ring eyes,
Bright to the sun shall show his rainbow dies:
To veil the streaming splendour o'er thine head,
His grove of leaves the smooth palmetto spread:
Cool gales of evening fragrance round thee move,
And glist'ning fire-flies light thee to thy love.
From all the horrours of the sultry sea,
Fly to the grassy vale, the cedar hill;
Catch the fresh breeze, and quaff the bounding rill;
Or to the wide Savanna haste away,
Where golden Autumn wears the bloom of May.
For thee th' anana springs: for thee shall bleed
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The humming bird, to charm thy wond'ring eyes,
Bright to the sun shall show his rainbow dies:
To veil the streaming splendour o'er thine head,
His grove of leaves the smooth palmetto spread:
Cool gales of evening fragrance round thee move,
And glist'ning fire-flies light thee to thy love.
No! cease the hope; the loathsome voyage o'er,
Severer horrors circle thee on shore.
Severer horrors circle thee on shore.
For ever doom'd an exile to remain;
For ever doom'd to drag the slavish chain;
Driv'n to the crowded mart; for sordid gold
Thyself and all thy future offspring sold;
There (shame to manhood!) shall a tyrant's hand
Stamp on thy naked breast the burning brand.
Ere to bright morn the shadowy twilight yield,
The sounding conch shall warn thee to the field,
Slave of a slave! To chide each short delay,
On thy torn limbs the knotted whip shall prey.
Fann'd by no gale, where plains unshelter'd lie,
Beat by the fervour of a blazing sky,
“ From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve,”
No comfort cheer thee, and no rest relieve,
Unblest, unfriended: till the pitying sun,
Who rising saw thy livelong task begun,
With purple light array the golden west,
And faint dismiss thee to distemper'd rest.
For ever doom'd to drag the slavish chain;
Driv'n to the crowded mart; for sordid gold
Thyself and all thy future offspring sold;
There (shame to manhood!) shall a tyrant's hand
Stamp on thy naked breast the burning brand.
Ere to bright morn the shadowy twilight yield,
The sounding conch shall warn thee to the field,
Slave of a slave! To chide each short delay,
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Fann'd by no gale, where plains unshelter'd lie,
Beat by the fervour of a blazing sky,
“ From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve,”
No comfort cheer thee, and no rest relieve,
Unblest, unfriended: till the pitying sun,
Who rising saw thy livelong task begun,
With purple light array the golden west,
And faint dismiss thee to distemper'd rest.
Then shall thy limbs confess the tort'ring smart:
Then shall the iron enter in thy heart:
Or if for one short hour oblivious sleep
In balmy dews thy aching temples steep,
And waft thee back to Afric's distant shore,
And gild the dream with bliss, ah! thine no more;
Scar'd by the echo of the morning shell
Again shall fade the visionary spell,
And leave thee to the horrours of despair,
The sad reality of waking care.
Then shall the iron enter in thy heart:
Or if for one short hour oblivious sleep
In balmy dews thy aching temples steep,
And waft thee back to Afric's distant shore,
And gild the dream with bliss, ah! thine no more;
Scar'd by the echo of the morning shell
Again shall fade the visionary spell,
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The sad reality of waking care.
Not such the rest Britannia's peasant knows,
Whose willing labour leads to calm repose.
Tho' few the pleasures of his humble cot,
Tho' plain his fare, and toilsome be his lot,
Yet blest in conscious liberty he lives;
Yet law secures the rights, which nature gives;
And still, as breaking from the smiling east,
Beams the glad day of consecrated rest,
Religion wakes the fires, that slumb'ring lie,
Refines his heart, and lifts his soul on high.
Whose willing labour leads to calm repose.
Tho' few the pleasures of his humble cot,
Tho' plain his fare, and toilsome be his lot,
Yet blest in conscious liberty he lives;
Yet law secures the rights, which nature gives;
And still, as breaking from the smiling east,
Beams the glad day of consecrated rest,
Religion wakes the fires, that slumb'ring lie,
Refines his heart, and lifts his soul on high.
But thou, degraded Afric's abject son,
Drear is the course of sorrow, thou must run.
Thy plaints by foul misshapen justice tried,
Thy feelings question'd, and thy rights denied,
If pity, shame, or selfishness impart
Repose or comfort to thy drooping heart,
Thy scanty pittance of precarious joy
The hand, which proffers, shall at will destroy;
The voice, which bids the lash its fury stay,
At will shall give suspended vengeance way:
While, form'd for heav'n and heav'nly thoughts in vain!
The ceaseless weight of the reproachful chain
Shall quell each nobler purpose of thy mind;
Benumb thy feelings, and thy reason blind;
Down to the earth thy tow'ring spirit draw;
Defeat thy Maker's will, reverse his law:
Till thy immortal nature it imbrute,
Thy earthly frame's celestial attribute;
Forbid thy soul superiour worlds to scan;
Displace, degrade thee in creation's plan;
And leave a worthless form, the semblance of a man.
Drear is the course of sorrow, thou must run.
Thy plaints by foul misshapen justice tried,
Thy feelings question'd, and thy rights denied,
If pity, shame, or selfishness impart
Repose or comfort to thy drooping heart,
27
The hand, which proffers, shall at will destroy;
The voice, which bids the lash its fury stay,
At will shall give suspended vengeance way:
While, form'd for heav'n and heav'nly thoughts in vain!
The ceaseless weight of the reproachful chain
Shall quell each nobler purpose of thy mind;
Benumb thy feelings, and thy reason blind;
Down to the earth thy tow'ring spirit draw;
Defeat thy Maker's will, reverse his law:
Till thy immortal nature it imbrute,
Thy earthly frame's celestial attribute;
Forbid thy soul superiour worlds to scan;
Displace, degrade thee in creation's plan;
And leave a worthless form, the semblance of a man.
So shall at length thy nobler part be broke,
Cleave to the ground, and hug the slavish yoke:
Or proudly spurning at the name of slave,
Too fierce to yield, yet impotent to save,
A willing victim to the tomb go down:
Or, leagu'd with high-born spirits, like thine own,
Rise in wild vengeance o'er the trembling foe,
Repay the wrong, and lay th' oppressor low.
Cleave to the ground, and hug the slavish yoke:
28
Too fierce to yield, yet impotent to save,
A willing victim to the tomb go down:
Or, leagu'd with high-born spirits, like thine own,
Rise in wild vengeance o'er the trembling foe,
Repay the wrong, and lay th' oppressor low.
Thus o'er Jamaica's pallid isle of late
Hung the black cloud, with ruin charg'd and fate:
Thus rolling on with gather'd fury, shed
Its night of tempest on Domingo's head.
Hung the black cloud, with ruin charg'd and fate:
Thus rolling on with gather'd fury, shed
Its night of tempest on Domingo's head.
Thron'd on the storm, and all his soul on flame,
A thirst for vengeance, Afric's Genius came.
His sons beheld him, tow'ring in his might;
And clank'd their chains with horrible delight;
Wav'd the red banner o'er the murmuring flood;
And yell'd to war; and bath'd the land in blood.
Nor rest; nor respite: death to death succeeds:
The negro triumphs, and the white man bleeds.
E'en Europe trembled, as she heard from far
The sounding march of injur'd Afric's war;
While bleeding Gaul her ravish'd empire mourn'd,
And bow'd to freemen, whom as slaves she scorn'd.
A thirst for vengeance, Afric's Genius came.
His sons beheld him, tow'ring in his might;
And clank'd their chains with horrible delight;
Wav'd the red banner o'er the murmuring flood;
And yell'd to war; and bath'd the land in blood.
Nor rest; nor respite: death to death succeeds:
The negro triumphs, and the white man bleeds.
29
The sounding march of injur'd Afric's war;
While bleeding Gaul her ravish'd empire mourn'd,
And bow'd to freemen, whom as slaves she scorn'd.
Britannia, watch! the spreading tempest stay,
Ere o'er thy trembling isles it burst its way;
With timely pity hear the Negro's pray'r,
Or, if unmov'd by pity, dread despair!
Ere o'er thy trembling isles it burst its way;
With timely pity hear the Negro's pray'r,
Or, if unmov'd by pity, dread despair!
But rather, let divine Compassion plead,
Swell at the heart, and sanctify the deed.
And, O! if He, whose breath thy offspring form'd,
With kindred blood the Negro's heart hath warm'd:
If his dread voice in thunder hath assign'd
Woe to the thieves and murderers of mankind,
And in soft strains of mercy whisper'd peace
To those who bid the captive's sorrows cease:
If His right hand in bounty from above
Sheds on thy sons the dew of heav'nly love:
If He with corn thy waving valleys fills;
And spreads thy cattle o'er a thousand hills;
And gives thy fleets in awful pomp to sweep
Majestic o'er the bosom of the deep;
And, while He round thee flings the girding sea,
Stamps on the face of thy white cliffs, “Be free:”
O, spread thy blessings: be the glory thine,
The first in mercy, as in pow'r, to shine;
Till not a spot Britannia's ermine stain,
And not a captive wear Britannia's chain;
Till Freedom's voice the song of gladness pour
From Niger's flood to western India's shore;
And Afric, starting from her Pagan dream,
Behold the day-spring break, and bless the heav'nly beam.
Swell at the heart, and sanctify the deed.
And, O! if He, whose breath thy offspring form'd,
With kindred blood the Negro's heart hath warm'd:
If his dread voice in thunder hath assign'd
Woe to the thieves and murderers of mankind,
And in soft strains of mercy whisper'd peace
To those who bid the captive's sorrows cease:
If His right hand in bounty from above
30
If He with corn thy waving valleys fills;
And spreads thy cattle o'er a thousand hills;
And gives thy fleets in awful pomp to sweep
Majestic o'er the bosom of the deep;
And, while He round thee flings the girding sea,
Stamps on the face of thy white cliffs, “Be free:”
O, spread thy blessings: be the glory thine,
The first in mercy, as in pow'r, to shine;
Till not a spot Britannia's ermine stain,
And not a captive wear Britannia's chain;
Till Freedom's voice the song of gladness pour
From Niger's flood to western India's shore;
And Afric, starting from her Pagan dream,
Behold the day-spring break, and bless the heav'nly beam.
31
TO G. W. MARRIOTT, Esq.
------ neque tu pessima munerum
Ferres, divite me scilicet artium
Quas aut Parrhasius protulit, aut Scopas.
[OMITTED]
Gaudes Carminibus.
Hor. Od. IV. viii.
Ferres, divite me scilicet artium
Quas aut Parrhasius protulit, aut Scopas.
[OMITTED]
Gaudes Carminibus.
Hor. Od. IV. viii.
Marriott, who spread'st with friendly care
The poet's name, who holds afar
From Thames his peaceful way;
Accept, 'tis all he can impart,
(Nor Northcote's his nor Flaxman's art)
The monumental lay.
The poet's name, who holds afar
From Thames his peaceful way;
Accept, 'tis all he can impart,
(Nor Northcote's his nor Flaxman's art)
The monumental lay.
Accept the lay. Not e'er did Fame
On upright Hale's immortal name
A fairer light diffuse,
Than when in Cowper's verse it shin'd,
With Newton's sapient spirit join'd,
And Milton's angel Muse.
On upright Hale's immortal name
32
Than when in Cowper's verse it shin'd,
With Newton's sapient spirit join'd,
And Milton's angel Muse.
Sweet was that pensive poet's shell,
For inspiration lov'd to dwell
By Ouse's elmy side.
O might on me his mantle rest,
Born where low Itchin's waters haste
To swell the refluent tide!
For inspiration lov'd to dwell
By Ouse's elmy side.
O might on me his mantle rest,
Born where low Itchin's waters haste
To swell the refluent tide!
O might my tuneful spirit flow
(Fond fancy's dream, my friend, allow)
Like his, sweet virtue's child!
Or his, the bard of Auburn's plain,
Or his, who breath'd his tender strain
To Arun's echoes wild!
(Fond fancy's dream, my friend, allow)
Like his, sweet virtue's child!
Or his, the bard of Auburn's plain,
Or his, who breath'd his tender strain
To Arun's echoes wild!
33
Then should thy bard to future days
Delighted sing his Marriott's praise,
And tell of one, whose mind,
Not whole to rigid Themis given,
Religion touch'd with fire from heaven,
And Poesy refin'd:
Delighted sing his Marriott's praise,
And tell of one, whose mind,
Not whole to rigid Themis given,
Religion touch'd with fire from heaven,
And Poesy refin'd:
Of one, whose bosom, burning bright
With private Friendship's purest light,
Yet felt a holier glow;
Blest, if his hand the wild career
Of daring vice could curb, and cheer
The path of modest woe.
With private Friendship's purest light,
Yet felt a holier glow;
Blest, if his hand the wild career
Of daring vice could curb, and cheer
The path of modest woe.
34
INSCRIPTION IN AN ARBOUR.
Cur valle permutem Sabinâ
Divitias operosiores?
Hor.
Divitias operosiores?
Hor.
Youth, who haply wander'st by,
If for Tuscan strains thou sigh,
Scenes by Titian's pencil drest,
Odours from Sabæa blest,
Seek the bright abode of power,
And come not to this simple bower.
If for Tuscan strains thou sigh,
Scenes by Titian's pencil drest,
Odours from Sabæa blest,
Seek the bright abode of power,
And come not to this simple bower.
But if the thrush with warble clear,
Or whistling blackbird charm thine ear;
Or rooks, that sail with solemn sound
Duly their native pines around;
Or murmuring bee; or bleating shrill
Of lambkin from the sheltering hill:
Or whistling blackbird charm thine ear;
35
Duly their native pines around;
Or murmuring bee; or bleating shrill
Of lambkin from the sheltering hill:
If thine eye delight to rove
O'er hazel copse, and beechen grove;
Sunny field; and shady nook,
Ting'd with curls of azure smoke;
And flocks, whose snowy fleeces crown
The slope side of the russet down:
O'er hazel copse, and beechen grove;
Sunny field; and shady nook,
Ting'd with curls of azure smoke;
And flocks, whose snowy fleeces crown
The slope side of the russet down:
If thou seek no richer smell
Than such as scents the cowslip bell;
Or southern gale, that blows more sweet
From the tufted violet;
Or the gadding woodbine wreath;
Or the heifer's balmy breath:
Than such as scents the cowslip bell;
Or southern gale, that blows more sweet
From the tufted violet;
Or the gadding woodbine wreath;
Or the heifer's balmy breath:
36
Youth, within this simple bow'r
Come and pass the vacant hour,
Not useless, if the scene dispense
Calm peace and pleasure to the sense,
And thy grateful spirit raise
The Maker for his works to praise.
Come and pass the vacant hour,
Not useless, if the scene dispense
Calm peace and pleasure to the sense,
And thy grateful spirit raise
The Maker for his works to praise.
37
A FATHER'S PRAYER.
But why, alas! do mortal men in vain
Of fortune, fate, or Providence complain?
God gives us what he knows our wants require,
And better things than those which we desire:
Some pray for riches; riches they obtain;
But watch'd by robbers, for their wealth are slain;
Such dear-brought blessings happen every day,
Because we know not for what things to pray.
Chaucer's Knight's Tale, by Dryden.
Of fortune, fate, or Providence complain?
God gives us what he knows our wants require,
And better things than those which we desire:
Some pray for riches; riches they obtain;
But watch'd by robbers, for their wealth are slain;
Such dear-brought blessings happen every day,
Because we know not for what things to pray.
Chaucer's Knight's Tale, by Dryden.
While to my God with spirit meek
I call, on bended knee;
What blessings shall thy Father seek,
My Agatha, for thee?
Be thine the good He wills to grant,
He, who inthron'd on high
Is wise to know whate'er we want,
And pow'rful to supply.
I call, on bended knee;
What blessings shall thy Father seek,
My Agatha, for thee?
Be thine the good He wills to grant,
He, who inthron'd on high
38
And pow'rful to supply.
I will not pray, dear babe, for thee
To prove or rich or fair,
Nor tempt my God for what may be
No blessing, but a snare.
But, O! a frame be thine, with health,
The truest beauty, blest!
And, O! be thine, the truest wealth,
A wise contented breast!
To prove or rich or fair,
Nor tempt my God for what may be
No blessing, but a snare.
But, O! a frame be thine, with health,
The truest beauty, blest!
And, O! be thine, the truest wealth,
A wise contented breast!
Be thine another's grief to feel,
Another's joy to share!
Be thine the grateful hymn in weal,
In woe the faithful pray'r!
Thy own defects be thine to know,
To trust thy Saviour's love,
In peace to sojourn here below,
But set thine heart above!
Another's joy to share!
Be thine the grateful hymn in weal,
In woe the faithful pray'r!
Thy own defects be thine to know,
To trust thy Saviour's love,
39
But set thine heart above!
Such blessings through his precious blood,
Who died mankind to save,
Such blessings of th' all-bounteous God
For thee, dear babe, I crave.
And, if aright my suit I plead,
O, may thy parents see
Thus, thus their anxious cares repaid,
My Agatha, in thee.
Who died mankind to save,
Such blessings of th' all-bounteous God
For thee, dear babe, I crave.
And, if aright my suit I plead,
O, may thy parents see
Thus, thus their anxious cares repaid,
My Agatha, in thee.
40
SPRING.
Ver, mihi quod dedit ingenium, cantabitur illo;
Profuerint isto reddita dona modo.
Milton, Eleg. V.
Profuerint isto reddita dona modo.
Milton, Eleg. V.
Lo! the winter is past; the rain's over and gone;
And bright is the morning of May:
The tender leaves shine as they wave in the sun,
And blithe is the song on the spray.
And bright is the morning of May:
The tender leaves shine as they wave in the sun,
And blithe is the song on the spray.
Shall we roam thro' the thrush-haunted garden, and mark
The bough of the apple how sweet?
Shall we list in the field the shrill note of the lark,
As he floats o'er the green-bladed wheat?
The bough of the apple how sweet?
Shall we list in the field the shrill note of the lark,
As he floats o'er the green-bladed wheat?
41
Shall we watch the young colt, while the herbage he crops,
Or bounds o'er the cowslip-clad mead?
Shall we pluck the white bloom of the thorn from the copse,
Or rob the blue violet's bed?
Or bounds o'er the cowslip-clad mead?
Shall we pluck the white bloom of the thorn from the copse,
Or rob the blue violet's bed?
By the path, thro' the beech-wood that winds, shall we go,
His tale where the nightingale tells,
Where the honey-bee hums, and the wood-sorrels blow,
And the hyacinth hangs his blue bells?
His tale where the nightingale tells,
Where the honey-bee hums, and the wood-sorrels blow,
And the hyacinth hangs his blue bells?
Shall we pause by the brink of the willow-fring'd rill,
The trout's crimson spots to behold?
Or drink the rich gale, as it blows from the hill,
Where the furze shines with blossoms of gold?
The trout's crimson spots to behold?
Or drink the rich gale, as it blows from the hill,
Where the furze shines with blossoms of gold?
42
Wherever we roam, thou art pleasant, O Spring!
The earth wears her loveliest hues,
The birds at thy bidding their roundelays sing,
And thou art the friend of the Muse.
The earth wears her loveliest hues,
The birds at thy bidding their roundelays sing,
And thou art the friend of the Muse.
And oft tho' thy landscape be darken'd by showers,
Yet a gleam of soft sunshine is seen,
While more sweet is the smell from thy garland of flowers,
And more fresh is thy raiment of green.
Yet a gleam of soft sunshine is seen,
While more sweet is the smell from thy garland of flowers,
And more fresh is thy raiment of green.
43
TO ** ON VISITING THE SCENES OF HER INFANCY.
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Beats at the breast, and turns the past to pain.
Goldsmith's Deserted Village.
Beats at the breast, and turns the past to pain.
Goldsmith's Deserted Village.
Tho' pleasure beam on every cheek,
Shall I surprise, my Betsey, feel,
If from thy breast a sigh should break,
If from thine eye a tear should steal?
Shall I surprise, my Betsey, feel,
If from thy breast a sigh should break,
If from thine eye a tear should steal?
Those waving firs, that cowslip mead,
Yon grassy mound, that skirts the main,
Speak to thy heart of pleasures fled,
Which never must return again.
Yon grassy mound, that skirts the main,
Speak to thy heart of pleasures fled,
Which never must return again.
44
Yon house, that saw thy early joys,
Yon garden, planted by thy care,
Each scene another's hand employs,
And strangers now inhabit there.
Yon garden, planted by thy care,
Each scene another's hand employs,
And strangers now inhabit there.
And she, who bore a mother's part
(Thy childhood, ah! no mother blest)
And form'd to virtuous thoughts thy heart,
Beneath this sod is now at rest.
(Thy childhood, ah! no mother blest)
And form'd to virtuous thoughts thy heart,
Beneath this sod is now at rest.
Hark! as the hallow'd ground we tread,
A sainted spirit seems to cry,
“And does for me among the dead
“My Betsey heave the mindful sigh?
A sainted spirit seems to cry,
“And does for me among the dead
“My Betsey heave the mindful sigh?
“Yet ah! the rising sigh repress,
“And ah! repress the starting tear,
“Which mourn for dear departed bliss,
“And friends departed, doubly dear:
“And ah! repress the starting tear,
“Which mourn for dear departed bliss,
“And friends departed, doubly dear:
45
“And bid thy soul on reason's wing
“To purer climes exulting soar;
“To climes, where joys unfading spring,
“And friends shall meet, to part no more.”
“To purer climes exulting soar;
“To climes, where joys unfading spring,
“And friends shall meet, to part no more.”
46
THE MUSE.
TO WILLIAM SMITH, FELLOW OF ST. PETER'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE; AND AUTHOUR OF ENGLISH LYRICS;
Occasioned by his Poem, intitled, “The Poet.”
------ Ne forte pudori
Sit tibi Musa lyræ solers ------
Hor.
Sit tibi Musa lyræ solers ------
Hor.
Spare, spare the censure; nor upbraid,
Priest of the Muse, thy heav'nly Maid!
If vice with fatal lure beguile
The youth, who courts her placid smile;
If passions wild his bosom rend,
Nor calm content his path attend;
Thy censure let the Poet share,
But O! to wound the Muse forbear!
Priest of the Muse, thy heav'nly Maid!
If vice with fatal lure beguile
The youth, who courts her placid smile;
If passions wild his bosom rend,
Nor calm content his path attend;
47
But O! to wound the Muse forbear!
'Tis not the Muse, whose touch destroys
The taste for peace and humble joys;
'Tis not the Muse, who tempts to fly,
And herd in pleasure's sensual sty;
'Tis not the Muse, who drugs the bowl,
And steels the foul self-murderer's soul,
With curses loads his parting breath,
And arms his frantic hand with death.
The taste for peace and humble joys;
'Tis not the Muse, who tempts to fly,
And herd in pleasure's sensual sty;
'Tis not the Muse, who drugs the bowl,
And steels the foul self-murderer's soul,
With curses loads his parting breath,
And arms his frantic hand with death.
'Tis that the wayward human mind
Delights to wander unconfin'd,
And spurns controul. And O! had they,
For whom thou pour'st the plaintive lay,
Withdrawn from fancy's sickly dreams,
To fairer views and holier themes,
The Muse had strown their way with flow'rs,
And ting'd with bliss their smiling hours.
Delights to wander unconfin'd,
And spurns controul. And O! had they,
For whom thou pour'st the plaintive lay,
Withdrawn from fancy's sickly dreams,
To fairer views and holier themes,
48
And ting'd with bliss their smiling hours.
What poet e'er with Milton's fire
To rapture wak'd the vocal lyre?
On whom with more enlivening beam
Did virtue than on Milton stream?
Whose fancy ne'er had learn'd to rove
In Eden's calm domestic grove,
Or soar to heav'n on Angel's wings,
Had he not felt the bliss he sings.
To rapture wak'd the vocal lyre?
On whom with more enlivening beam
Did virtue than on Milton stream?
Whose fancy ne'er had learn'd to rove
In Eden's calm domestic grove,
Or soar to heav'n on Angel's wings,
Had he not felt the bliss he sings.
Where was the Muse's withering power,
When woo'd to Olney's blameless bower,
With soothing voice she lull'd the smart,
Which prey'd on Cowper's wounded heart?
Where was the Muse's fatal sway,
When Addison expiring lay,
Look'd forth with faith's unclouded eye,
And taught his weeping friends to die?
When woo'd to Olney's blameless bower,
With soothing voice she lull'd the smart,
Which prey'd on Cowper's wounded heart?
Where was the Muse's fatal sway,
When Addison expiring lay,
49
And taught his weeping friends to die?
And see a spotless train appear
!
The poet of the varied year:
The graceful pair, more strong to wield
Of holy Faith the beaming shield:
And he, whose harp “the Minstrel” strung;
And he, “immortal Man who sung;”
And he, who breath'd the tender verse
Resign'd o'er “dead Maria's” herse.
The poet of the varied year:
The graceful pair, more strong to wield
Of holy Faith the beaming shield:
And he, whose harp “the Minstrel” strung;
And he, “immortal Man who sung;”
And he, who breath'd the tender verse
Resign'd o'er “dead Maria's” herse.
And Thou, who bid'st the youth “survey
The perils of the Muse's sway,”
Yet dar'st submit thy tranced soul
With fondness to her lov'd controul;
Say, pensive Bard, did e'er her pow'r
Rob thee of one delightful hour,
Or e'er with guilt pollute thy road,
Or tempt thee to forget thy God?
The perils of the Muse's sway,”
Yet dar'st submit thy tranced soul
With fondness to her lov'd controul;
50
Rob thee of one delightful hour,
Or e'er with guilt pollute thy road,
Or tempt thee to forget thy God?
O gentle Queen, to whom I bow,
To whom I pour the fervent vow,
Still, still my sweet companion be,
Handmaid of love and piety!
Thou heighten'st ev'ry joy, I share;
Thou shed'st a balm on ev'ry care;
Thou point'st, where virtue shines afar,
And art thyself my leading star.
To whom I pour the fervent vow,
Still, still my sweet companion be,
Handmaid of love and piety!
Thou heighten'st ev'ry joy, I share;
Thou shed'st a balm on ev'ry care;
Thou point'st, where virtue shines afar,
And art thyself my leading star.
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