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By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks received the chain;
Crossing in your barks the main;
To the man-degrading mart;
Only by a broken heart;
Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason ye shall find
Than the color of our kind.
Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Ere you proudly question ours !
I own I am shocked at the purchase of slaves,
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,
Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes,
If foreigners likewise would give up the trade,
Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind
A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
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,
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 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.
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 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,
Oppression his terrible name.
A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
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.
THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long