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Why am I ravish'd from native strand?

“ What savage race protects this impious gain? “ Shall foreign plagues infest this teeming land, And more than sea-born monsters plough the

" main ?

“ Here the dire locusts' horrid swarms prevail ;

“ Here the blue asps with livid poison swell; “ Here the dry dipsa writhes his sinuous mail; 66 Can we not here secure from



6. When the grim lion urg'd his cruel chase, “ When the stern panther sought his midnight

prey, * What fate reserv'd me for this Christian race*?

O race more polish'd, more severe than they!

Ye prowling wolves! pursue my latest cries;

“ Thou hungry tyger ! leave thy reeking den; “ Ye sandy wastes! in rapid eddies rise;

O tear me from the whips and scorns of men!

“ Yet in their face superior beauty glows:

“ Are smiles the mien of rapine and of wrong " Yet from their lip the voice of mercy flows,

“ And ev'n religion dwells upon their tongue,

* Spoken by a Negro,

« Of blissful haunts they tell, and brighter climes,

“ Where gentle minds, convey'd by Death,

“ repair;

“ But stain'd with blood, and crimson'd o'er with

“ crimes, “ Say, shall they merit what they paint so fair?

“ No, careless, hopeless of those fertile plains,

“ Rich by our toils, and by our sorrows gay, They ply our labours, and enhance our pains, “ And feign these distant regions to repay.

« For them our tusky elephant expires;

“ For them we drain the mine's embowel'd gold; 66 Where rove the brutal nation's wild desires ?

Our limbs are purchas'd, and our lives are sold !

“ Yet shores there are, bless'd shores for us remain,

“ And favor’d isles with golden fruitage crown'd, “ Where tufted flow'rets paint the verdant plain, “ Where ev'ry breeze shall med'cine ev'ry

66 wound.

“ There the stern tyrant, that embitters life,

“ Shall, vainly suppliant, spread his asking hand; " There shall we view the billows' raging strife,

“ Aid the kind breeze, and waft bis boat to land.” THE GRAVE.


The house appointed for all living.-JOB.

Whilst some affect the sun, and some the shade,
Some flee the city, some the hermitage,
Their aims as various as the roads they take
In journeying through life; the task be mine
To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb;
Th’ appointed place of rendezvous, where all
These trav’llers meet. Thy succours I implore,
Eternal King! whose potent arm sustains
The keys of helland death. The Grave, dread thing!
Men shiver when thou'rt nam’d: Nature appallid,
Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark
Thy long-extended realms, and rueful wastes ?
Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark

night, Dark as was Chaos, ere the infant sun Was rolld together, or had try'd its beams Athwart the gloom profound! The sickly taper, By glimm’ring thro’ thy low-brow'd misty vaults, (Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,) Lets fall a supernumerary horror,


Yeteen those bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erecteo nighdeck'd. With uncouth rhymes and shapelep nulpture Implores the pafing tribute of a sigh.

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