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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
THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.
Forced from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn;
O'er the raging hillows horne.
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 to torture, me to task?
Cannot forfeit nature's claim;
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;
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!
THE SLAVE TRADE.
France, and Spain, and Portugal,
Long has righteous vengeance slumher'd;
Not a fetter's clank, a groan,
Every jewel in your crest,
To purify their wine some people hleed
things, And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue
springs. 'Tis in the hlood of inuocence alone— Good canse why planters never try their own.
THE NEGRO CONVERT.
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!
OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF THE REV. JOHN SMITH,
At Demerara, Fehruary 6th, 1824.
Come down in thy profoundest gloom,
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
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,
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,
-—He may not lift his sword, or strike,
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
The fire shall try thee, then like gold,
And O, when truth alone is told,
The fire shall try thy foes;—may they
Find mercy in that dreadful day.—
THE AVENGER OF THE SLAVE.
"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—
THE MORNING DREAM.
'twas in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
So pleasant it seemed as I lay;
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,
Wherever her glory appeared.
Fled, chased hy her melody clear,
'Twas liherty only to hear.
Thus swiftly dividing the flood,
To a slave-cultured island we came,
Oppression his terrihle name.
A scourge hung with lashes he hore,
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.
THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY.
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,
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,
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,
In woods and glens I love to roam,
Yet when the silent evening sighs
The autumn leaf is sear and dead,
I would not he a leaf to die,
The woods and winds, with sadden wail,
Yet in my dreams a form I view,
But art thon thus indeed alone,
Who laid his Son within the grave,
Is not His voice in evening's gale?
Each flutt'ring hope, each anxious fear,
ON HIS BLINDNESS.
When I consider how my light is spent
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more hent