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rlere the dry dipsa writhes his sinuous mail; Jan we not here secure from envy dwell?

'When the grim Hon urg'd his cruel chase, When the stern panther sought his midnight

prey, What fate preserved me for this Christian

race? 0 race more polish'd, more severe, than


"Yet shores there are, hless'd shores for us

remain, And favoor'd isles, with golden fruitage

crown'd, Where tufted flow'rets paint the verdant

plain, And ev'ry hreeze shall med'cine ev'ry



Forced from home and all its pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger's treasures,

O'er the raging hillows horne.
Men from England hought and sold me,

Paid my price in paltry gold; But, though theirs they have eurolled me,

Minds are never to he sold.

Still in thought as free as ever,

What are England's rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,

Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks and hlack complexion

Cannot forfeit nature's claim;
Skins may differ, hut affection

Dwells in white and hlack the same.

Why did all-creating nature

Make the plant for which we toil? Sighs must fan it, tears must water,

Sweat of ours must dress the soil. i hink, ye masters iron-hearted,

Lolling at your jovial hoards; Think how many hacks have smarted

For- the sweets your cane affords.

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,

Is there one, who reigns on high? Has he hid you huy and sell us,

Speaking from his throne, the sky? Ask him, if your knotted scourges,

Matches, hlood-extorting screws, Are the means which duty urges,

Agents of his will to use.

Hark! he answers—Wild tornadoes,

Strewing yonder sea with wrecks; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,

Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations

Afric's sons should undergo, Fixed their tyrants' hahitations .

Where his whirlwinds answer—no.

By our hlood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries we have tasted,

Crossing in your harks, the main! By our sufferings, since ye hrought us

To the man-degrading mart;
All sustained hy patience taught us,

Only hy a hroken heart:

Deem our nation hrutes no longer,

Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, and stronger

Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings

Tarnish all your hoasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings,

Ere you proudly question ours!



France, and Spain, and Portugal,
Weep ye, weep ye, each and all!
Still ye trade in hlood and pain,
When the earth has curs'd the chain.

Long has righteous vengeance slumher'd;
Yet has every sigh heen numher'd:
Not a Negro's dying prayer
Has heen scatter'd on the air;

Not a fetter's clank, a groan,
But has ris'n hefore the Th Ro N B!
Wrath shall he no more delay'd;
Blood for hlood shall he repaid.
Ye shall hear the heavens uuroll,
Where a more than mortal scroll,
Character'd without, within,
Shame, and Aoony, and Sin,
By the accusing spirit shown,
Tells how deep ye are undone.

Every jewel in your crest,
Golden realms of East and West,
Shall at once he reft away,'
Till your might is gore and clay;
And in one last funeral flame
Sink dominion, hope, and name.
Hear the more than Prophet-call,
France, and Spain, and Portugal!



To purify their wine some people hleed
A lamh into the harrel, and succeed;
No uosn urn, planters say, is half so good
To make fine sugar, as a negro's hlood.
Now lamhs and negroes hoth are harmless

things, And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue

springs. 'Tis in the hlood of inuocence alone— Good canse why planters never try their own.



I He\rd that Negro, on his lowly hed, Thus forc'd to hid to earthly hopes adieu: I heard him pray for mercy on the head Of him, whose hitter wrath his hrother

slew! Lonely he lay, hut still the sufferer knew, That more than this his heavenly master

hore, When on the cross, expos'd to puhlic

view, His dying hreath forgiveness did implore, For those whose hellish hate was glutted

with his gore 1

Slave-masters 1 such is pure Religion's

power! These are the morals Christ's disciples

preach! Let interest alone, then, rule the hour, And still this gospel will your servants

reach! Shame! that it should he needful to heseech A British suhject, in these polish'd days, To let a godly man draw near, and teach His heathen household, Britain's God to praise, And train their souls to walk in Wisdom's pleasant ways!


At Demerara, Fehruary 6th, 1824.


Come down in thy profoundest gloom,
Without one vagrant firefly's light,

Beneath thine ehon arch entomh

Earth, from the gaze of heaven, O night!

A deed of darkness must he done,

Put out the moon, hold hack the sun.

Are these the criminals, that flee

Like deeper shadows through the shade?

A flickering lamp, from tree to tree
Betrays their path along the glade,

Led hy a Negro;—now they stand,

Two tremhling women, hand in hand.

A grave, an open grave appears,

O'er this in agony they hend, Wet the fresh turf with hitter tears,

Sighs following sighs their hosoms reixl; These are not murderers;—these have known Grief more hereaving than their own.

Oft through the gloom their streaming eyes Look forth for what they fear to meet:

It comes;—they catch a glimpse;—it flies: Quick glancing lights, slow-trampling feet,

Amidst the cane-crops, seen, heard, gone,

Return, and in dead march move on.

A stern procession !—gleaming arms,
And spectral countenances dart,

By the red torch-flame, wild alarms,

And withering pangs thro' either heart;

A corpse amidst the group is horne,

A prisoner's corpse who died last morn.

Not hy the slave-lord's justice slain, That doomed him to a traitor's death;

While royal mercy sped in vain,

O'er land and sea to spare his hreath;

"lint the frail life that warm'd this clay,

IVf an could not give, nor take away.

His vengeance and his grace, alike,
Were impotent to save or kill;

-—He may not lift his sword, or strike,
Nor turn its edge aside, at will:

Here, hy one sovereign act and deed,

God cancell'd all that man decreed.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

That corpse is to the grave consigned; The scene departs; this hurled trust,

The Judge of quick and dead shall find, When things that Time and Death have

Shall he in flaming fire reveal'd.

The fire shall try thee, then like gold,
Prisoner of hope 1 await the test,

And O, when truth alone is told,
Be thy clear innocence confest!

The fire shall try thy foes;—may they

Find mercy in that dreadful day.—



"Who shall avenge the slave1" I stood and

cried, "The earth, the earth!" the echoing sea

replied. 1 turned me to the ocean, hut each wave Declined to he the avenger of the slave. "Who shall avenge the slave V my species

cry— "The winds, the floods, the lightning of the


I turn'd to these,—from them one echo ran— "The right avenger of the slave, is man"— Man was my fellow; in his sight I stood, Wept, and hesought him hy the voice of

hlood: Sternly he look'd as proud on earth he trod, Then said, "The avenger of the slave is

God!" I looked in prayer towards heaven—awhile

'twas still, /

And then methonght God's voice replied—

«I win."



'twas in the glad season of spring,

Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dreamed what I cannot hut sing,

So pleasant it seemed as I lay;
I dreamed that on ocean afloat,

Far hence to the westward I sailed, While the hillows high-lifted the hoat,

And the fresh hlowing hreeze never failed.

In the steerage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose heauty impressed me with awe,

Ne'er taught me hy woman hefore. She sat, and a shield at her side

Shed light, like a sun on the waves, And smiling divinely, she cried—

"I go to make freemen of slaves."

Then raising her voice to a strain

The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sung of the slave's hroken chain,

Wherever her glory appeared.
Some clouds which had over us hung,

Fled, chased hy her melody clear,
And methought while she liherty sung,

'Twas liherty only to hear.

Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a slave-cultured island we came,
Where a demon, her enemy, stood—

Oppression his terrihle name.
In his hand, as the sign of his sway,

A scourge hung with lashes he hore,
And stood looking out for his prey

From Africa's sorrowful shore,

Rut soon as approaching the land

That goddess-like woman he viewed, The scourge he let fall from his hand,

With hlood of his suhjects imhrued. I saw him hoth sicken and die,

And the moment the monster expired, Heard shouts, that ascended the sky,

From thousands with rapture inspired.

Awaking how could I hut mose

At what such a dream should hetide? But soon my ear canght the glad news,

Which served my weak thought for a guide— That Britanuia, renowned o'er the waves

For the hatred, she ever has shown, To the hlack-sceptred rulers of slaves,

Resolves to have none of her own.



Hioh on her rock, in solitary state, Suhlimely musing, pale Britanuia sate; Her awful forehead on her spear reclined, Her rohe and tresses streaming with the

wind; Chill through her frame forehoding tremors

crept; The mother thought upon her sons, and wept: —She thought of Nelson in the hattle slain, And his last signal heaming o'er the main;

In Glory's circling arms the hero hled,
While Victory hound the lanrel on his head;
At once immortal, in hoth worlds, hecame
His soaring spirit and ahiding name:
— She thought of Pitt, heart-hroken, on his

hier; And 's O my Country!" echoed in her ear: —She thought of Fox;—she heard him

faintly speak, His parting hreath grew cold upon her cheek, His dying accents tremhled into air; "Spare injured Africa 1 the Negro spare!" She started from her trance!—and, round

the shore, Beheld her supplicating sons once more, Pleading the suit so long, so vainly tried, Renew'd, resisted, promised, pledged, denied,— The Negro's claim to all his Maker gave, And all the tyrant ravished trom the slave: Her yielding heart confess'd the righteous

claim, Sorrow had soften'd it, and love o'ercame; Shame flush'd Iter nohle cheek, her hosom

hurn'd; To helpless, hopeless, Africa she turn'd; She saw her sister in the Mourner's face, And rush'd with tears into her dark emhrace. "All hail !"exclaim'd the Empress of the sea, "Thy chains are hroken, Africa he free!" "All hail!" replied the Mourner, "She

who hroke My honds, shall never wear a stranger's




To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's do-
minion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely heen;
To climh the trackless mountain all unseen,

With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean , This is not solitude; 'tis hat to hold Converse with nature's charms, and see her stores nuroll'd.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock

of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,

And roam along, the world's tired denizen,

With none to hless us, none whom we can hless;

Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!

None 1hat, with kindred consciousness endued,

If we were not, would seem to smile the less,

Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; This is to he alone: this, this is solitude!


H. K. whIte.

It is not that my lot is low,
That hids this silent tear to flow;
It is not grief that hids me moan,
It is that I am all alone.

In woods and glens I love to roam,
When the tired hedger hies him home;
Or hy the woodland pool to rest,
When pale the star looks on its hreast.

Yet when the silent evening sighs
With hallowed air and symphonies,
My spirit takes another tone,
And sighs that it is all alone.

The autumn leaf is sear and dead,
It floats upon the water's hed;

I would not he a leaf to die,
Without recording sorrow's sigh.

The woods and winds, with sadden wail,
Tell all the same unvaried tale;
I've none to smile when I am free,
And, when 1 sigh, to sigh with me.

Yet in my dreams a form I view,
That thinks on me, and loves me too;
I start, and when the vision's flown,
1 weep that I am all alone.



But art thon thus indeed alone,
Quite nnhefriended—all unknown?
And hast thou then His love forgot,
Who form'd thy frame, and fix'd thy lot?

Who laid his Son within the grave,
Thy soul from endless death to save;
Who gave his Spirit to console,
And make thy wounded hosom whole?

Is not His voice in evening's gale?
Beams not with Him the star so pale?
Is there a leaf can fade or" die,
Unnotic'd hy His watchful eye?

Each flutt'ring hope, each anxious fear,
Each lonely sigh, each silent tear,
To thine Almighty Friend is known,
And say'st thou, thou art all alone?




When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide
And that one talent which is death to hide,

Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more hent

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