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Yes, their keen sorrows are the sweets we blend
The while to love meek mercy we pretend,
Yes, 'lis their anguish mantles in the bowl,
Those ignorant sufTrers know not of a soul,
And there are men, who leaning on the laws, What they have purchased claim a right to hold— t
Cursed be the tenure, cursed its cruel cause —
And there are men, with shameless front have said,
'That Nature form'd the Negroes for disgrace j 'That on their limbs subjection is display'd— 'The doom of slavery stampt upon their face.'
Send your stern gaze from Lapland to the Line, And every region's natives fairly scan,
Their forms, their force, their faculties combine, And own the vast variety of Man!
Then why suppose yourselves the chosen few, .
To deal oppression's poison'd arrows round, To gall with iron bonds the weaker crew,
Enforce the labour, and inflict the wound?
'Tis sordid Interest guides you ; bent on gain,
In profit only can ye reason find;
The selfish subject to the social mind.
Ah! how can He, whose daily lot is grief,
Suppose his Maker has for him relief?
Can he believe the tongue that speaks of God >
For when he sees the female of his heart,
His sons, the poor inheritors of smart—
Alas! He steals him from the loathsome" shed, What time moist midnight blows her venora'd breath,
And musing, how he long has toil'd and bled.
Haste, haste, ye winds, on swiftest pinions Ay,
Tell him his wrongs bedew a Nation's eye,
Say that in future, Negroes shall be blest,
Be neither sold, nor purchased, nor oppress'd,
Say that fair Freedom bends her holy flight
So shall He wondering prove at last delight,
Then shallNproud Albion's crown, where laurel* twine,
Torn from the bosom of the raging sea, Boast 'midst the glorious leaves, a gem divine,, The radiant gem of pure HumaDity!
ADDRESS'D TO MR. TICKELt.1
If ever for fictitious grief
O Tickell! in the murmuring gale,
Oft have I found thy plaintive voice prevail;
When the wet fingers of the morn,
Shook the cold pearl-drops from the bending
Sincere as erst thy Father's Parent proved,
So may her mighty spell,
Thy desolating anguish quell,
So may'st thou quit at length the Forest's gloom;
Nor thus for ever dwell upon the sainted Tomb.
O think, when wandering on the shore,
Thou mark'st with musing eye,
O'er the rude cliffs the tempest fly,
And rouse to sudden rage the howling main.
Think, She thou lovest, has left a world,
Where jarring elements are hurl'd,