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Thus feeling, at his inmost soul,
The sweet reward of self-control,
Impatient now, and all alive,

He thought he never should arrive;
At last he spies Sir Gilbert's trees;
Now the near battlements he sees;
The gates he enter'd with delight,

And, self-announc'd, embrac'd the knight:
The youth his joy unfeign'd exprest,
The knight with joy receiv'd his guest,
And own'd, with no unwilling tongue,
'Twas done like men when he was young.
Taree weeks subducted, went to prove,
A feeling like old-fashion'd love,
For Celia, not a word she said,
But blush'd, 'celestial, rosy red!'

Her modest charms transport the youth,
Van promis'd everlasting truth.

W

Celía, in honour of the day,

Unusual splendour would display :

Such was the charm her sweetness gave,

He thought her wedgwood had been seve;
Her taste diffused a gracious air,
And chaste Simplicity was there,

He feels the perfect, good, and fair.
As pious Celia rais'd the theme
To holy faith and love supreme;
Enlighten'd Florio learn'd to trace
In Nature's God the God of grace.

In wisdom as the convert grew,
The hours on rapid pinions flew,
When call'd to dress, that Titus wore
A wig the alter'd Florio swore ;
Or else, in estimating time,

He ne'er had mark'd it as a crime,
That he had lost but one day's blessing,
When we so many lose, by dressing.

The rest, suffice it now to say,
Was finish'd in the usual way.
Cupid, impatient for his hour,
Revil'd slow Themis' tedious power,
Whose parchment legends, singing, sealing,
Are cruel forms for Love to deal in.
At length, to Florio's eager eyes,
Behold the day of bliss arise!
The golden sun illumes the globe,
The burning torch, the saffron robe,
Just as of old, glad Hymen wears,

Whose secret power, though silent, great is, And Cupid, as of old, appears

The loveliest of the sweet Penates.
Forio, now present to the scene,
With spirits light, and gracious mien,
Sir Gilbert's port politely praises,
And carefully avoids French phrases;
Endures the daily dissertation
On land-tax, and a ruin'd nation;
Listens to many a tedious tale
Of poachers, who deserv'd a jail;
Heard all the business of the quorum,
Each cause and crime produc'd before 'em ;
Heard them abuse with complaisance
The language, wines, and wits of France;
Nor did he hum a single air,
While good Sir Gilbert fill'd his chair.
Abroad, with joy and grateful pride,
He walks, with Celia by his side:
A thousand cheerful thoughts arise,
Each rural scene enchants his eyes;
With transports he begins to look
On Nature's all-instructive book;
No objects now seem mean, or low,
Which point to Him from whom they flow.
A berry or a bud excites

A chain of reasoning which delights,
Which spite of sceptic ebullitions,
Proves atheists not the best logicians.
A tree, a brook, a blade of grass,
Ergests reflections as they pass,
Tal Florio, with a sigh, confest
The simplest pleasures are the best!
Bellario's systems sink in air,

In Hymen's train; so strange the case
They hardly knew each other's face;
Yet both confess'd with glowing heart
They never were design'd to part;
Quoth Hymen, sure you're strangely slighted
At weddings not to be invited;
The reason's clear enough, quoth Cupid,
My company is thought but stupid,
Where Plutus is the favourite guest,
For he and I scarce speak at best.

The self-same sun which joins the twain
Sees Flavia sever'd from her swain;
Beliario sues for a divorce,

And both pursue their sep'rate course.
Oh wedded love! thy bliss how rare!
And yet the ill-assorted pair;
The pair who choose at Fashion's voice,
Or drag the chain of venal choice;
Have little cause to curse the state,
Who make, should never blame their fate;
Such flimsy ties, say where's the wonder,
If Doctors Commons snap asunder.

In either case, 'tis still the wife,
Gives cast and colour to the life.
Florio escap'd from Fashion's school
His heart and conduct learns to rule;
Conscience his useful life approves ;
He serves his God, his country loves;
Reveres her laws, protects her rights,
And, for her interests, pleads or fights;
Reviews with scorn his former life,
And, for his rescue, thanks his wife.

THE SLAVE TRADE:

A POEM.

-O great design!

Ye sons of mercy! O complete your work; Wrench from Oppression's hand the iron rod, And bid the cruel feel the pains they give.

IF Heaven has into being deign'd to call
Thy light, O liberty! to shine on all;
Bright intellectual sun! why does thy ray
To earth distribute only partial day?
Since no resisting cause from spirit flows
Thy universal presence to oppose;
No obstacles by Nature's hand imprest,
Thy subtle and ethereal beams arrest;
Not sway'd by Matter is thy course benign,
Or more direct or more oblique to shine;
Nor Motion's laws can speed thy_active
[force;
Nor strong Repulsion's pow'rs obstruct thy
Since there is no convexity in mind,
Why are thy genial beams to parts confin'd?
While the chill north with thy bright ray is
blest,
[vest?
Why should fell darkness half the south in-
Was it decreed, fair Freedom! at thy birth,
That thou should'st ne'er irradiate all the
earth?

course

While Britain basks in thy full blaze of light,
Why lies sad Afric quench'd in total night?
Thee only, sober goddess! I attest,
In smiles chastis'd, and decent graces drest.
To thee alone pure daughter of the skies,
The hallow'd incense of the bard should rise!
Not that mad liberty, in whose wild praise
Too oft he trims his prostituted bays;
Not that unlicens'd monster of the crowd,
Whose roar terrific bursts in peals so loud,
Deaf'ning the ear of Peace; fierce Faction's
tool,

Of rash Sedition born, and mad Misrule; Whose stubborn mouth, rejecting Reason's reign,

No strength can govern, and no skill re

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Thompson's "Liberty."

Bellowing for blessings which were never lost.

'Tis past, and Reason rules the lucid hour, And beauteous ORDER reassumes his power: Lord of the bright ascendant may he reign, Till perfect Peace eternal sway maintain !* O, plaintive Southerne !† whose impassion'd page

Can melt the soul to grief, or rouse to rage! Now, when congenial themes engage the Muse,

She burns to emulate thy generous views; Her failing efforts mock her fond desires, She shares thy feelings, not partakes thy fires.

Strange pow'r of song the strain that warms the heart

Seems the same inspiration to impart ;
Touch'd by th' extrinsic energy alone,
We think the flame which melts us is our

OWD:

Deceiv'd, for genius we mistake delight,
Charm'd as we read, we fancy we can write.
Though not to me, sweet bard, thy powr's
belong,

The cause I plead shall sanctify my song.
The Muse awakes no artificial fire,
For Truth rejects what Fancy would in-
spire:

Here Art would weave her gayest flow'rs in vain,

The bright invention Nature would disdain.
For no fictiticus ills these numbers flow,
But living anguish, and substantial wo;
No individual griefs my bosom melt,
For millions feel what Oronoko felt :
Fir'd by no single wrongs, the countless host
I mourn, by rapine dragg'd from Afric's

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Strong, but luxuriant virtues boldly shoot
From the wild vigour of a savage root.
Nor weak their sense of honour's proud
control,

For pride is virtue in a Pagan soul;

A sense of worth, a conscience of desert,
A high, unbroken haughtiness of heart;
That self-same stuff which erst proud em-
pires sway'd,

Of which the conquerors of the world were
made.

Capricious fate of men! that very pride
In Afric scourg'd, in Rome was deify'd.
No muse, O Quashi!* shall thy deeds re-
late,

No statue snatch thee from oblivious fate!
Forthou wast born where never gentle Muse
On valour's grave the flow'rs of Genius

strews;

And thou wast born where no recording page
Plucks the fair deed from Time's devouring

rage:

Had Fortune plac'd thee on some happier

coast,

Where polis'd Pagans souls heroic boast,
To thee who sought'st a voluntary grave,
Th' injur'd honours of thy name to save,
Whose generous arm thy barbarous master
spar'd

Altars had smok'd, and temples had been
rear'd.

Whene'er to Afric's shores I turn my eyes,
Horrors of deepest, deadliest guilt arise;
Isce, by more than Fancy's mirror shown,
The burning village, and the blazing town:
See the dire victim torn frem social life,
The shrieking babe, the agonizing wife!
She, wretch forlorn! is dragg'd by hostile
hands,

To distant tyrants sold, in distant lands!
Transmitted miseries, and successive chains,
The sole sad heritage her child obtains !
Een this last wretched boon their foes deny,

It is a point of honour among negroes of a high spirit to die rather than to suffer their glossy skin to war the mark of the whip. Quashi had somehow offended his master, a young planter with whom he had been tred up in the endearing intimacy of a play-fellow. His services had been faithful; his attachment affectionate. The master resolved to punish him, and pursued him for dat purpose. In trying to escape Quashi stumbled and k; the master fell upon him : the wrestled long with doubtful victory; at length Quashi got uppermost, and beng firmly seated on his master's breast, he secured ks legs with one hand, and with the other drew a sharp kmfe, then said, "master, I have been bred up with you fras ehild; I loved you as myself; in return, you have demned me to a punishment of which I must ever

To weep together, or together die.
By felon hands, by one relentless stroke,
See the fond links of feeling Nature broke!
The fibres twisting round a parent's heart,
Torn from their grasp, and bleeding as they
part.

Hold murderers, hold! nor aggravate
distress;

Respect the passions you yourselves possess,
Ev'n you, of ruffian heart, and ruthless hand,
Love your own offspring, love your native
land:

Ev'n you, with fond impatient feelings burn,
Though free as air, though certain of return,
Then, if to you who voluntary roam,

So dear the memory of your distant home,
O think how absence the lov'd scene endears
To him whose food is groans, whose drink is
tears;

Think on the wretch whose aggravated
pains

To exile misery adds, to misery chains.
If warm your heart, to British feelings true,
As dear his land to him as yours to you ;
And Liberty, in you a hallow'd flame,
Burns, unextinguish'd in his breast the same.
Then leave him holy Freedom's cheering
smile,

The heav'n-taught fondness for the parent
soil;

Revere affections mingled with our frame,
In every nature, every clime the same;
In all, these feelings equal sway maintain;
In all the love of Home and Freedom reign;
And Tempe's vale, and parch'd Angola's
sand,

One equal fondness of their son's command.
Th' unconquer'd savage laughs at pain and
toil,

Basking in Freedom's beams which gild his

native soil.

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No: sordid lust of gold their fate controls,
The basest appetite of basest souls;
Gold, better gain'd by what their ripening
sky,

Their fertile fields, their arts,* and mines
supply.

What wrongs, what injuries does Op-
pression plead,

To smooth the crime and sanctify the deed?
What strange offence, what aggravated sin?
They stand convicted—of a darker skin!
Barbarians, hold! th' opprobrious com-

merce spare,

Respect HIS Sacred image which they bear.
Though dark and savage, ignorant and blind,
They claim the common privilege of kind;
Let malice strip them of each other plea,
They still are men, and men should still be
free.

Insulted Reason loaths the inverted trade

borne the marks-thus only i can avoid them ;' so wyng, he drew the knife with all his strength across his awa throat, and fell down dead, without a groan, on his * Besides many valuable productions of the soil, cloths mister's body.—Ramsay's Essay an the Treatment of and carpets of exquisite manufacture are brought from griran Slaves.

the coast of Guinea.

Loathes, as she views the human purchase | For that have heroes shorten'd nature's date;

made;

The outrag'd goddess, with abhorrent eyes,
Sees MAN the traffic, SOULS the merchan-
dise!
[judging eye,
Man, whom fair Commerce taught with
And liberal hand, to barter or to buy,
Indignant Nature blushes to behold,
Degraded man himself, truck'd, barter'd,
sold:

Of ev'ry native privilege bereft,
Yet curs'd with ev'ry wounded feeling left.
Hard lot! each brutal suff'ring to sustain,
Yet keep the sense acute of human pain.
Plead not, in reason's palpable abuse,
Their sense of feeling* callous and obtuse:
From heads to hearts lies Nature's plain ap-
peal,

Though few can reason, all mankind can
feel.
[shame,
Though wit may boast a livelier dread of
A loftier sense of long refinement claim;
Though polish'd manners may fresh wants
invent,

And nice distinctions nicer souls torment;
Though these on finer spirits heavier fall,
Yet natural evils are the same to all.
Tho' wounds there are which reason's force
may heal,

There needs no logic sure to make us feel.
The nerve, howe'er untutor'd, can sustain
A sharp umutterable sense of pain;
As exquisitely fashion'd in a slave,
As where unequal fate a sceptre gave.
Sense is as keen where Gambia's waters
glide,

As where proud Tiber rolls his classic tide. Though verse or rhetoric point the feeling line,'

They do not whet sensation, but define. Did ever wretch less fell the galling chain, When Zeno prov'd there was no ill in pain? In vain the sage to smooth its horror tries; Spartans and Helots see with different eyes; Their miseries philosophic quirks deride, Slaves groan in pangs disown'd by stoic pride.

When the fierce Sun darts vertical his beams,

And thirst and hunger mix their wild extremes;

When the sharp iront wounds his inmost soul,

And his strain'd eyes in burning anguish roll; Will the parch'd negro own, ere he expire, No pain in hunger, and no heat in fire?

For him, when agony his frame destroys, What hope of present fame or future joys?

Nothing is more frequent than this cruel and stupid argument, that they do not feel the miseries inflicted on

them as Europeans would do.

This is not said figuratively. The writer of these line's has seen a complete set of chains, fitted to every separate limb of these unhappy, innocent men; together with instruments for wrenching open the jaws, contri. ved with such ingenious cruelty as mould gratify the tender mercies of an inquisitor.

For this have martyrs gladly met their fate? But him forlorn, no hero's pride sustains, No martyr's blissful vision soothe his pains; Sullen, he mingles with his kindred dust, For he has learn'd to dread the Christian's trust;

To him what mercy can that GOD display, Whose servants murder, and whose sons betray?

Savage thy venial error I deplore, They are not Christians wlio infest thy shore.

O thou sad spirit, whose preposterous yoke

The great deliverer Death, at length has broke,

Releas'd from misery, and escap'd from care, Go, meet that mercy man deny'd thee here. in thy dark home, sure refuge of th' oppress'd,

The wicked vex not, and the weary rest. And, if some notions, vague and undefin'd, Of future terrors have assail'd thy mind; If such thy masters have presum'd to teach, As terrors only they are prone to preach; (For should they paint eternal Mercy's reign, [tive's chain?) Where were th' oppressor's rod, the capIf, then, thy troubled soul has learn'd to dread

The dark unknown thy trembling footsteps tread;

[pend; On HIM, who made thee what thou art, deHE, who withholds the means, accepts the end. [blame; Thy mental night thy Saviour will not He die'd for those who never heard his

name.

1

Not thine the reckoning dire of LIGHT
abus'd,
[us'd;
KNOWLEDGE disgrac'd, and LIBERTY mis-
On thee no awful judge incens'd shall sit
For parts perverted, and dishonour'd wit.
Where ignorance may be found the safest
plea,

How many learn'd and wise shall envy thee !
And thou, WHITE SAVAGE! whether lust

of gold

Or lust of conquest rule thee uncontroll❜d!
Hero, or robber!-by whatever name
Thou plead thy impious claim to wealth or
fame;

Whether inferior mischiefs be thy boast,
A tyrant trader rifling Congo's coast;
Or bolder carnage track thy crimson way,
Kings dispossess'd, and provinces thy prey;
Whether thou pant to tame earth's distant
bound;

All Cortez murder'd, all Columbus found;
O'er plunder'd realms to reign, detested
lord,

Make millions wretched, and thyself ab-
Whether Cartouche in forests break the law.
horr'd:-
:-
Or bolder Cæsar keep the world in awe;
In Reason's eye, in Wisdom's fair account,
Your sum of glory boasts a like amount;

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And breathes her spirit o'er th' enlighten'd
few,
[steals,
From soul to soul the spreading influence
Till every breast the soft contagion feels.
She speeds, exulting, to the burning shore,
With the best message angel ever bore;
Hark! 'tis the note which spoke a Saviour's
birth!

Glory to God on high, and peace on earth!
She vindicates the pow'r in Heaven ador'd,
She stills the clank of chains, and sheathes
the sword;
[hands
She cheers the mourner, and with soothing
From bursting hearts unbinds th' oppressor's
bands;

Restores the lustre of the Christian name,
And clears the foulest blot that dimm'd its
fame.

As the mild spirit hovers o'er the coast,
A fresher hue their wither'd landscapes
boast;

Her healing smiles the ruin'd scenes repair,
And blasted Nature wears a joyous air;
While she proclaims thro' all their spicy
groves,
[your loves,
Henceforth your fruits, your labours, and
'All that your sires possess'd, or you have
[own.'

sown,

Sacred from plunder-all is now YOUR And now, her high commission from above,

Then with pernicious skill we had not known To bring their vices back and leave our own. The purest wreaths which hang on Glory's shrine, [thine; For empires founded, peaceful Penn! are Stamp'd with the holy characters of love, No blood-stain'd laurels crown'd thy virtu- The meek-ey'd spirit waving in her hand, ous toil, [earn'd soil; Breathes manumission o'er the rescu'd land; No slaughter'd natives drench'd thy fair-She tears the banner stain'd with blood and Still thy meek spirit in thy flock* survives, Consistent still, their doctrines rule their

lives;

name.

Thy followers only have effac'd the shame,
Inscrib'd by SLAVERY on the Christian
[reigns,
Shall Britain, where the soul of freedom
Forge chains for others she herself disdains?
Forbid it, Heaven! O let the nations know
The liberty she loves, she will bestow;
Not to herself the glorious gift confin'd,
She spreads the blessing wide as human
kind;
[place,
And, scorning narrow views of time and
Bids all be free in earth's extended space.
What page of human annals can record
A deed so bright as human rights restor'd?
Omay that god-like deed, that shining page,
Redeem OUR fame, and consecrate OUR age!
And let this glory mark our favour'd shore,
To curb False Freedom and the True re-

store.

And see, the cherub Mercy from above, Descending softly, quits the sphere of love! On Britain's isle she sheds her heavenly dew; The Quakers have emancipated all their slaves throughout America.

tears,

And LIBERTY! thy shining standard rears!
As the bright ensign's glory she displays,
See pale OPPRESSION faints beneath the

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