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For all that pleased in wood or lawn,
While Peace possess'd these silent bowers, Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its powers.
The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley musing, slow; They seek like me the secret shade,
But not like me to nourish woe!
Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam; These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE,
The lady thus address'd her spouse-
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
You are so deaf, the lady cried,
Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing--
Alas! and is domestic strife,
And something every day they live
The love that cheers life's latest stage,
THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.
FORCED from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast left forlorn ;
O’er the raging billows borne.
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 to sever,
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. 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 your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges,
Agents of his will to use ?
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.
By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks received the chain ; By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in
barks the main ; By our sufferings, since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart
Only by a broken heart;
Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, and stronger
Than the colour of our kind.