Then farewell all, that must create

The comfort of the wedded state;

50

Instead of harmony, 'tis jar,
And tumult, and intestine war.

The love, that cheers life's latest stage,
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserv'd by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention;
But lives, when that exterior grace,
Which first inspir’d the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate or blind,
And will with sympathy endure
Those evils, it would gladly cure:
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression
Shows love to be a mere profession;
Proves that the heart is none of his,

Or soon expels him if it is.

62 THE

NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.

Forc'd from home and all it's pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger's treasures,

O’er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,

Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though slave they have enrolld me,

Minds are never to be sold.

Still in thought as free as ever,

What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights so sever,

10

Me to torture, me to task?

Fleecy locks and black complexion

Cannot forfeit Nature's claim;

Skins may differ, but affection

Dwells in white and black 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.

20

Think, ye masters iron-hearted,

Lolling at your jovial boards; Think how many backs have smarted

For the sweets, your cane affords.

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,

Is there one, who reigns on high? Has he bid you buy and sell us,

Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him, if

knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means, that duty urges

Agents of his will to use?

your knotted

30

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, Fix'd their tyrants' habitations

Where his whirlwinds answer—no.

40

By our blood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks receiv'd the chain; By the mis’ries that we tasted,

Crossing in your barks the main;
By our suff'rings, since ye brought us

To the man-degrading mart;
All sustain’d by patience, taught us

Only by a broken heart;

Deem our nations brutes no longer,

Till some reason ye shall find

50

Worthier of regard, and stronger

,
Than the colour of our kind..

Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings

Tarnish all your boasted pow’rs,
Prove that you have human feelings,

Ere you proudly question ours!

56

PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.

Video meliora proboque
Deteriora sequor.

I own I am shock'd 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