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-When Pitt, supreme, amid the senate, rose The Negro's friend, among the Negro's foes; Yet while his tone like heaven's high thunder broke, No fire descended to consume the yoke: -When Fox, all eloquent, for freedom stood, With speech resistless as the voice of blood, The voice that cries through all the patriot's veins, When at his feet his country groans in chains; The voice that whispers in the mother's breast, When smiles her infant in his rosy rest; Of power to bid the storm of passion roll, Or touch with sweetest tenderness the soulHe spake in vain;-till, with his latest breath, He broke the spell of Africa in death.

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High on her rock in solitary state, Sublimely musing, pale Britannia sate : Her awful forehead on her spear reclined, Her robe and tresses streaming with the wind; Chill through her frame foreboding tremors crept; The Mother thought upon her sons, and wept : -She thought of Nelson in the battle slain, And his last signal beaming o'er the main;' In Glory's circling arms the hero bled, While Victory bound the laurel on his head; At once immortal, in both worlds, became His soaring spirit and abiding name; -She thought of Pitt, heart-broken on his bier; And "O my Country!" echoed in her ear; -She thought of Fox ;-she heard him faintly speak, His parting breath grew cold upon her cheek,

His dying accents trembled into air;


Spare injured Africa! the Negro spare!"

Muse! take the harp of prophecy :-behold!
The glories of a brighter age unfold:
Friends of the outcast! view the accomplish'd plan,
The Negro towering to the height of man.
The blood of Romans, Saxons, Gauls, and Danes,'
Swell'd the rich fountain of the Briton's veins;
Unmingled streams a warmer life impart,
And quicker pulses, to the Negro's heart:
A dusky race, beneath the evening sun,
Shall blend their spousal currents into one:
Is beauty bound to color, shape, or air?
No: God created all his offspring fair.
Tyrant and slave their tribes shall never see,
For God created all his offspring free;
When Justice, leagued with Mercy, from above
Shall reign in all the liberty of love;
And the sweet shores beneath the balmy west
Again shall be "the islands of the blest."

Unutterable mysteries of fate Involve, O Africa! thy future state. -On Niger's banks, in lonely beauty wild, A Negro-mother carols to her child: "Son of my widow'd love, my orphan joy! Avenge thy father's murder, O, my boy!' Along those banks the fearless infant strays, Bathes in the stream, among the eddies plays; See the boy, bounding through the eager race; The fierce youth, shouting foremost in the chase, Drives the grim lion from his ancient woods, And smites the crocodile amidst his floods. To giant strength in unshorn manhood grown, He haunts the wilderness, he dwells alone. A tigress with her whelps to seize him sprung; He tears the mother, and he tames the young In the drear cavern of their native rock; Thither wild slaves and fell banditti flock: He heads their hordes; they burst, like torrid rains, In death and devastation o'er the plains; Stronger and bolder grows his ruffian band, Prouder his heart, more terrible his hand. He spreads his banner; crowding from afar, Innumerable armies rush to war; Resistless as the pillar'd whirlwinds fly O'er Libyan sands, revolving to the sky, In fire and wrath through every realm they run; Where the noon-shadow shrinks beneath the sun;

She started from her trance!—and round the shore, Till at the Conqueror's feet, from sea to sea,
Beheld her supplicating sons once more
Pleading the suit so long, so vainly tried,
Renew'd, resisted, promised, pledged, denied,

A hundred nations bow the servile knee,
And, throned in nature's unreveal'd domains,
The Jenghis Khan of Africa he reigns.

fence of Las Casas was published in 1803, by H. D. Symonds, Paternoster-Row.

1"England expects every man to do his duty."

Dim through the night of these tempestuous years A Sabbath dawn o'er Africa appears;


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Then shall her neck from Europe's yoke be freed,
And healing arts to hideous arms succeed;
At home fraternal bonds her tribes shall bind,
Commerce abroad espouse them with mankind,
While Truth shall build, and pure Religion bless
The church of God amidst the wilderness.

Nor in the isles and Africa alone Be the Redeemer's cross and triumph known: Father of Mercies! speed the promised hour; Thy kingdom come with all-restoring power; Peace, virtue, knowledge, spread from pole to pole, As round the world the ocean waters roll!


The World before the Flood.

THERE is no authentic history of the world from the Creation to the Deluge, besides that which is found in the first chapters of Genesis. He, therefore, who fixes the date of a fictitious narrative within that period, is under obligation to no other authority whatever for conformity of manners, events, or even localities: he has full power to accommodate these to his peculiar purposes, observing only such analogy as shall consist with the brief information contained in the sacred records, concerning mankind in the earliest ages. The present writer acknowledges, that he has exercised this undoubted right with great freedom. Success alone sanctions bold innovation: if he has succeeded in what he has attempted, he will need no arguments to justify it; if he has miscarried, none will avail him. Those who imagine that he has exhibited the antediluvians as more skilful in arts and arms than can be supposed, in their stage of Society, may read the Eleventh Book of PARADISE LOST-and those who think he has made the religion of the Patriarchs too evangelical, may read the Tod fth.

With respect to the personages and incidents of his story, the Author having deliberately adopted them, under the conviction, that in the characters of the one he was not stepping out of human nature, and in the construction of the other not exceeding the limits of poetical probability, he asks no favor, he deprecates no censure, on behalf of either; nor shall the facility. with which "much malice, and a little wit" might turn into ridicule every line that he has written, deter him from leaving the whole to the mercy of general Readers.

But, here is a large web of fiction involving a small fact of Scripture! Nothing could justify a work of this kind, if it were, in any way, calculated to impose on the credulity, pervert the principles, or corrupt the affections, of its approvers. Here, then, the appeal lies to conscience rather than to taste; and the decision on this point is of infinitely more importance to the Poet than his name among men, or his interests on earth. It was his design, in this. composition, to present a similitude of events, that might be imagined to have happened in the first age of the world, in which such Scripture-characters

-Hope waits the morning of celestial light:
Time plumes his wings for everlasting flight;
Unchanging seasons have their march begun :
Millennial years are hastening to the sun;
Seen through thick clouds, by Faith's transpiercing

The New Creation shines in purer skies.
-All hail!-the age of crime and suffering ends;
The reign of righteousness from heaven descends;
Vengeance for ever sheathes the afflicting sword;
Death is destroy'd, and Paradise restored;
Man, rising from the ruins of his fall,
Is one with God, and God is All in All.

as are introduced would probably have acted and spoken as they are here made to act and speak. The story is told as a parable only; and its value, in this view, must be determined by its moral, or rather by its religious influence on the mind and on the heart. Fiction though it be, it is the fiction that represents Truth; and that is Truth,-Truth in the essence, though not in the name; Truth in the spirit, though not in the letter.


MANY, my friend, have mourn'd for Thee,
And yet shall many mourn,

Long as thy name on earth shall be
In sweet remembrance borne,

By those who loved Thee here, and love
Thy spirit still in realms above.

For while thine absence they deplore,
"Tis for themselves they weep;
Though they behold thy face no more,
In peace thine ashes sleep,
And o'er the tomb they lift their eye,

-Thou art not dead, Thou couldst not die.

In silent anguish, O my friend!
When I recall thy worth,
Thy lovely life, thine early end,
I feel estranged from earth;
My soul with thine desires to rest,
Supremely and for ever blest.

In loftier mood, I fain would raise,
With my victorious breath,
Some fair memorial of thy praise,
Beyond the reach of Death;
Proud wish, and vain!-I cannot give
The word, that makes the dead to live.

THOU art not dead, Thou couldst not die; To nobler life new-born,

Thou look'st in pity from the sky
Upon a world forlorn,
Where glory is but dying flame,
And immortality a name.

Yet didst Thou prize the Poet's art;
And when to Thee I sung,

How pure,
how fervent from the heart,
The language of thy tongue!
In praise or blame alike sincere,
But still most kind when most severe.

When first this dream of ancient times
Warm on my fancy glow'd,
And forth in rude spontaneous rhymes
The Song of Wonder flow'd;
Pleased but alarm'd, I saw Thee stand,
And check'd the fury of my hand.

That hand with awe resumed the lyre,
I trembled, doubted, fear'd,

Then did thy voice my hope inspire,
My soul thy presence cheer'd;
But suddenly the light was flown,
I look'd, and found myself alone.

Alone, in sickness, care, and woe,
Since that bereaving day,
With heartless patience, faint and low
I trill'd the secret lay,

Afraid to trust the bold design

To less indulgent ears than thine.

"T is done ;-nor would I dread to meet The world's repulsive brow,

Had I presented at thy feet

The Muse's trophy now,
And gain'd the smile I long'd to gain,
The pledge of favor not in vain.

Full well I know, if Thou wert here,
A pilgrim still with me,-

Dear as my theme was once, and dear
As I was once to Thee,-

Too mean to yield Thee pure delight, The strains that now the world invite.

Yet could they reach Thee where thou art,
And sounds might Spirits move,

Their better, their diviner part,
Thou surely wouldst approve;
Though heavenly thoughts are all thy joy,
And Angel-Songs thy tongue employ.

My task is o'er; and I have wrought, With self-rewarding toil,

To raise the scatter'd seed of thought Upon a desert soil:

O for soft winds and clement showers! I seek not fruit, I planted flowers.

Those flowers I train'd, of many a hue,
Along thy path to bloom,

And little thought, that I must strew
Their leaves upon thy tomb:
-Beyond that tomb I lift mine eye,
Thou art not dead, Thou couldst not die.

Farewell, but not a long farewell; In heaven may I appear,

The trials of my faith to tell

In thy transported ear,

And sing with Thee the eternal strain, "Worthy the Lamb that once was slain." January 23, 1813.


No place having been found, in Asia, to correspond exactly with the Mosaic description of the site of Paradise, the Author of the following Poem has disregarded both the learned and the absurd hypotheses on the subject; and at once imagining an inaccessible tract of land at the confluence of four rivers, which after their junction take the name of the largest, and become the Euphrates of the ancient world, he has placed "the happy garden" there. Milton's noble fiction of the Mount of Paradise being removed by the deluge, and push'd

Down the great river to the opening gulf,

and there converted into a barren isle, implies such a change in the water-courses as will, poetically at least, account for the difference between the scene of this story and the present face of the country, at the point where the Tigris and Euphrates meet. On the eastern side of these waters, the Author supposes the descendants of the younger Children of Adam to dwell, possessing the land of Eden; the rest of the world having been gradually colonized by emigrants from these, or peopled by the posterity of Cain. In process of time, after the Sons of God had formed connexions with the daughters of men, and there were Giants in the earth, the latter assumed to be Lords and Rulers over mankind, till among themselves arose One, excelling all his brethren in knowledge and power, who became their King, and by their aid, in the course of a long life, subdued all the inhabited earth, except the land of Eden. This land, at the head of a mighty army, principally composed of the descendants of Cain, he has invaded and conquered, even to the banks of the Euphrates, at the opening of the action of the poem. It is only necessary to add, that for the sake of distinction, the invaders are frequently denominated from Cain, as


the host of Cain,"-" the force of Cain,"-" the camp of Cain ;"-and the remnant of the defenders of Eden are, in like manner, denominated from Eden. -The Jews have an ancient tradition, that some of the Giants, at the Deluge, fled to the top of a high mountain, and escaped the ruin that involved the rest of their kindred. In the tenth Canto of the following Poem, a hint is borrowed from this tradition, but it is made to yield to the superior authority of Scripturetestimony.




The Invasion of Eden by the Descendants of Cain. The Flight of Javan from the Camp of the Invaders to the Valley where the Patriarchs dwelt The story of Javan's former life.

EASTWARD of Eden's early-peopled plain, When Abel perish'd by the hand of Cain, The murderer from his Judge's presence fled : Thence to the rising sun his offspring spread;

But he, the fugitive of care and guilt,
Forsook the haunts he chose, the homes he built;
While filial nations hail'd him Sire and Chief,
Empire nor honor brought his soul relief:
He found, where'er he roam'd, uncheer'd, unblest,
No pause from suffering, and from toil no rest.

Ages meanwhile, as ages now are told,
O'er the young world in long succession roll'd;
For such the vigor of primeval man,
Through number'd centuries his period ran,
And the first Parents saw their hardy race,
O'er the green wilds of habitable space,
By tribes and kindred, scatter'd wide and far,
Beneath the track of every varying star.
But as they multiplied from clime to clime,
Embolden'd by their elder brother's crime,
They spurn'd obedience to the Patriarchs' yoke,
The bonds of Nature's fellowship they broke;
The weak became the victims of the strong,
And Earth was fill'd with violence and wrong.

Yet long on Eden's fair and fertile plain,
A righteous nation dwelt, that knew not Cain;
There fruits and flowers, in genial light and dew,
Luxuriant vines, and golden harvests, grew;
By freshening waters flocks and cattle stray'd,
While Youth and Childhood watch'd them from the

Age, at his fig-tree, rested from his toil,
And manly vigor till'd the unfailing soil;
Green sprang the turf, by holy footsteps trod,
Round the pure altars of the living God;
Till foul Idolatry those altars stain'd,
And lust and revelry through Eden reign'd.
Then fled the people's glory and defence,
The joys of home, the peace of innocence;
Sin brought forth sorrows in perpetual birth,
And the last light from heaven forsook the earth,
Save in one forest-glen, remote and wild,
Where yet a ray of lingering mercy smiled,
Their quiet course where Seth and Enoch ran,
And God and angels deign'd to walk with man.

One sole-surviving remnant, void of fear,
Woods in their front, Euphrates in their rear,
Were sworn to perish at a glorious cost,

For all they once had known, and loved, and lost;
A small, a brave, a melancholy band,
The orphans, and the childless of the land.
The hordes of Cain, by giant-chieftains led,
Wide o'er the north their vast encampment spread
A broad and sunny champaign stretch'd between;
Westward a maze of waters girt the scene;
There, on Euphrates, in its ancient course,
Three beauteous rivers roll'd their confluent force,
Whose streams while man the blissful garden trod,
Adorn'd the earthly paradise of God;

But since he fell, within their triple bound,
Fenced a long region of forbidden ground;
Meeting at once, where high athwart their bed
Repulsive rocks a curving barrier spread,
The embattled floods, by mutual whirlpools crost,
In hoary foam and surging mist were lost;
Thence, like an Alpine cataract of snow,
White down the precipice they dash'd below;
There, in tumultuous billows broken wide,
They spent their rage, and yoked their fourfold tide
Through one majestic channel, calm and free,
The sister-rivers sought the parent-sea.

The midnight watch was ended; down the west
The glowing moon declined towards her rest;
Through either host the voice of war was dumb;
In dreams the hero won the fight to come;
No sound was stirring, save the breeze that bore
The distant cataract's everlasting roar,
When from the tents of Cain, a Youth withdrew;
Secret and swift, from post to post he flew,
And pass'd the camp of Eden, while the dawn
Gleam'd faintly o'er the interjacent lawn;
Skirting the forest, cautiously and slow,
He fear'd at every step to start a foe;
Oft leap'd the hare across his path, up-sprung
The lark beneath his feet, and soaring sung;
What time, o'er eastern mountains seen afar,
With golden splendor, rose the morning star,
As if an Angel-sentinel of night,

Now from the east, supreme in arts and arms,
The tribes of Cain, awakening war-alarms,
Full in the spirit of their father, came

From earth to heaven, had wing'd his homeward


To waste their brethren's lands with sword and flame. Glorious at first, but lessening by the way,
And lost insensibly in higher day.

In vain the younger race of Adam rose,
With force unequal, to repel their foes;
Their fields in blood, their homes in ruins lay,
Their whole inheritance became a prey;
The stars, to whom as Gods they raised their cry,
Roll'd, heedless of their offerings, through the sky;
Till urged on Eden's utmost bounds, at length,
In fierce despair they rallied all their strength.
They fought, but they were vanquish'd in the fight,
Captured, or slain, or scatter'd in the flight:
The morning battle-scene at eve was spread
With ghastly heaps, the dying and the dead;
The dead unmourn'd, unburied left to lie,
By friends and foes, the dying left to die.
The victim, while he groan'd his soul away,
Heard the gaunt vulture hurrying to his prey,
Then strengthless felt the ravening beak, that tore
His widen'd wounds, and drank the living gore.

From track of man and herd his path he chose,
Where high the grass, and thick the copsewood rose;
Then by Euphrates' banks his course inclined,
With toil and pain their humid shade he clear'd,
Where the grey willows trembled to the wind;
When at the porch of heaven the sun appear'd,
And kindled into glory at his eye;
Through gorgeous clouds that streak'd the orient sky,

While dark amidst the dews that glitter'd round,
From rock and tree, long shadows traced the ground
Then climb'd the fugitive an airy height,
And resting, back o'er Eden cast his sight.

Far on the left, to man for ever closed,
The Mount of Paradise in clouds reposed:
The gradual landscape open'd to his view;
From Nature's face the veil of mist withdrew,

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