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By our blood in Afric wasted,

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

Crossing in your barks the main;
By our sufferings since ye brought us

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

Only by a broken heart;



Deem our nation brutes no longer,

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

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

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

Ere you proudly question ours !


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I own I am shocked at the purchase of slaves,
And fear those who buy them and sell them are

knaves; What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and

groans, Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.


I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see;
What! give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea ?


Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes,
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains:
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will;
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still.

If foreigners likewise would give up the trade,
Much more in behalf of your wish might be said;
But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks, 15
Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks?

Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind
A story so pat, you may think it is coined
On purpose to answer you out of my mint;
But I can assure you I saw it in print.


A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test;
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And asked him to go and assist in the job.


He was shocked, sir, like you, and answered “Oh

no! What! rob our good neighbor? I pray you don't go; Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread: Then think of his children, for they must be fed.”


“You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have:

with us, you shall have a share; If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.'

They spoke, and Tom pondered — "I see they will

I go: Poor man! what a pity to injure him so ! Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could, 35 But staying behind will do him no good.

“ If the matter depended alone upon me,
His apples might hang till they dropped from the tree;
But since they will take them, I think I'll go too;
He will lose none by me, though I get a few.


His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to seize; He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan; He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.


'Twas in the glad season of spring,

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

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

Far hence to the westward I sailed,


While the billows high lifted the boat,

And the fresh-blowing breeze never failed.

In the steerage a woman I saw;

Such at least was the form that she wore, 10 Whose beauty impressed me with awe,

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

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

15 “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 broken chain Wherever her glory appeared. Some clouds, which had over us hung

Fled, chased by her melody clear, And methought while she liberty sung,

'Twas liberty only to hear.



Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

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

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

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

From Africa's sorrowful shore.



But soon as approaching the land,

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

With blood of his subjects imbrued. I saw him both sicken and die,

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

From thousands with rapture inspired.


Awaking, how could I but muse

At what such a dream should betide ? But soon my ear caught the glad news,

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

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

Resolves to have none of her own.



A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,


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