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We thy magnificence adore,
And thy well known aid implore;
Nor vainly for thy help we call;
Nor can we want; for thou art all!

ELEGY

ON

THE AFRICAN SLAVES,

SHENSTONÉ. Why droops this heart with fancy'd woes for

lorn? Why sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky? What pensive crowds, by ceaseless labours worn,

What myriads wish to be as bless'd as I? What tho' my roofs devoid of

Nor tempt the proud to quit his destin'd way! Nor costly art my flow'ry dales disguise,

Where only simple friendship deigns to stray! See the wild sons of Lapland's chill domain,

their couch beneath the drifted snows! How void of hope they ken the frozen plain,

Where the sharp east for ever, ever blows!

pomp arise,

That scoo,

Slave tho' I be, to Delia's

eyes

a slave, My Delia's

eyes

endear the bands I wear; The sigh she causes well becomes the brave,

The pang she causes 'tis ev'n bliss to bear.

See the poor native quit the Lybian shores,

Ah! not in love's delightful fetters bound; No radiant smile his dying peace restores, Nor love, nor fame, nor friendship, heals his

wound.

Let vacant bards display their boasted woes;

Shall I the mockery of grief display? No! let the Muse his piercing pangs disclose,

Who bleeds and weeps his sum of life away!

On the wild beach, in mournful guise he stood,

Ere the shrill boatswain gave the hated sign; He dropp'd a tear unseen, into the flood,

He stole one secret moment to repine.

Yet the Muse listen'd to the plaints he made,

Such moving plaints as nature could inspire; To me the Muse his tender plea convey'd,

But smooth'd and suited to the sounding lytc.

Why am I ravish'd from my native strand?

“What savage race protects this impious gain? Shall foreign plagues infest this teeming land,

And more than sea-born monsters plough the

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Here the dire locusts' horrid swarms prevail;

Here the blue asps with livid poison swell; Here the dry dipsa writhes his sinuous mail;

“ Can we not here secure from envy dwell?

" 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*; "Orace more polish'd, more severe than they!

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* 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 lusky elephant expires;

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

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

Yet shores thereare, bless'd shores for us remain,

“ And favor'disles, with golden fruitage crown'd, “ Where tufied flow'rets paint the verdant plain, “ Where cv'ry breeze shall medicine ev'ry

< wound.

“ There the stern tyrant, that erbitters life,

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

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

BLAIR

The house appointed for all living --JOB.

1

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 hell and death. The Grave, dread

thing!
Men shiver when thou’rt nam'd: Nature appalld,
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,

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