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Oh could their ancient Incas rise again, 59. How would they take up Israel's taunting strain !
Art thou too fallen, Iberia? Do we see
25. The robber and the murderer weak as we?
Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despise
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies,
Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid
Low in the pits thine avarice lias made.
We come with joy from our eternal rest,
To see the oppressor in his turn oppress'd.
Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand
Rollid over all our desolated land,
Shook principalities and kingdoms down,
And made the mountains tremble at his frown?
The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers,
And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours.
'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils,
And Vengeance executes what Justice wills.
Again—the band of commerce was design'd
To associate all the branches of mankind;
And if a boundless plenty be the robe,
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe.
Wise to promote whatever end he means,
opens fruitful nature's various scenes:
* Each climate needs what other climes produce,
And offers something to the general use;
No land but listens to the common call,
And in return receives supply from all.
This genial intercourse, and mutual aid,
Cheers what were else an universal shade,
Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den,
And softens human rock-work into men. stw Ingenious Art, with her expressive face,
Steps forth to fashion and refine the race;
Not only fills Necessity's demand,
But overcharges her capacious hand :
Capricious Taste itself can crave no more,
Than she supplies from her abounding store;
She strikes out all that luxury can ask,
And gains new vigour at her endless task.
Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire,
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre;
From her the canvas borrows light and shade,
And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade.
She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys,
Gives difficulty all the grace of ease,
And pours a torrent of sweet notes around,
Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound.
These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most
Where commerce has enrich'd the busy coast;
He catches all improvements in his flight,
Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight,
Imports what others have invented well,
And stirs his own to match them, or excel.
Tis thus reciprocating, each with each,
Alternately the nations learn and teach;
While Providence enjoins to every soul
An union with the vast terraqueous whole,
Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurl'd To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the pole the produce of the sun, And knit the unsocial climates into one. Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save, To succour wasted regions, and replace The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face. Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene, (harged with a freight transcending in its worth
he gems of India, Nature's rarest birth, That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, A herald of God's love to pagan lands. But ah! what wish can prosper, or what prayer, For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, Who drive a loathsome traffic, gauge, and span, And buy the muscles and the bones of man ! The tender ties of father, husband, friend, All bonds of nature in that moment end; And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, A stroke as fatal as the scythe of Death. The sable warrior, frantic with regret of her he loves, and never can forget, Loses in tears the far-receding shore, But not the thought that they must meet no more:
Deprived of her and freedom at a blow,
What has he left that he can yet forego ?
Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his generous nature; and, to suit
His manners and his fate, puts on the brute.
O most degrading of all ills, that wait
On many a mourner in his best estate!
All other sorrows Virtue may endure,
And find submission more than half a cure;
Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd
To improve the fortitude that bears the load,
To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase,
The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace,
But slavery!–Virtue dreads it as her grave;
Patience itself is meanness in a slave;
Or if the wi!l and sovereignty of God
Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod,
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And snap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
That has a heart and life in it, Be free!
The beasts are charter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse:
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack;
And, conscious of an unincumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein;
Loose fly his forelock and his aniple mane;
Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs ;
Nor stops till, overleaping all delays,
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze.
Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian name,
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame;
Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead
Experience as a warrant for the deed?
So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold,
To quit the forest and invade the fold.
So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide,
Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside ;
Not he, but his emergence forced the door,
He found it inconvenient to be poor.
Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes
Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies.
Self-knowledge, truly learn'd, of course implies
The rich possession of a nobler prize;
For self to self, and God to man reveal'd
Two themes to nature's eye for ever seal'd),
Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace
From the same centre of enlightening grace.
Here stay thy foot; how copious, and how clear,
The o'erflowing well of Charity springs here!
Hark! 'tis the music of a thousand rills,
Some through the groves, some down the sloping hills,
Winding a secret or an open course,
And all supplied from an eternal source,
The ties of Nature do but feebly bind;
And commerce partially reclaims mankind;
Philosophy, without his heavenly guide,
May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride;
But, while his promise is the reasoning part,
Has still a veil of midnight on his heart;
Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth,
Gives Charity her being and her birth.
Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows,
What will not argument sometimes suppose ?)
An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind,
Endued with reason, yet by nature blind.
Let Supposition lend her aid once more,
And land some grave optician on the shore:
He claps his lens, if haply they may see,
Close to the part where vision ought to be;
But finds, that, though his tubes assist the sight,
They cannot give it, or make darkness light.
He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud
A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd,
He talks of light, and the prismatic hues,
As men of depth in erudition use;
But all he gains for his harangue is-Well-
What monstrous lies some travellers will tell !
The soul, whose sight all-quickening grace renews, Takes the resemblance of the good she views, As diamonds stripp'd of their opaque disguise, Reflect the noonday glory of the skies.
Then would he say, submissive at thy feet,
While gratitude and love made service sweet,--
My dear deliverer, out of hopeless night,
Whose bounty bought me but to give me light,
I was a bondman on my native plain,
Sin furged, and ignorance made fast, the chain;
Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew,
Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue:
Farewell my former joys! I sigh no more
For Africa's once loved, benighted shore;
Serving a benefactor I am free ;
At my best home, if not exiled from thee.
Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds
A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ;
The swell of pity, not to be confined
Within the scanty limits of the mind,
Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sand
A rich deposit, on the bordering lands :
These have an ear for his paternal call,
Who makes some rich for the supply of all;
God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ,
And Thornton is familiar with the joy.
O could I worship aught beneath the skies,
That earth has seen, or fancy can devise,
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air.
as ever on the mountain's height The peep of Morning shed a dawning light, Again, when Evening, in her sober vest, Drew the gray curtain of the fading west, My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise, For the chief blessings of my fairest days: But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine, But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine : Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly A captive bird into the boundless sky, This triple realm adores thee—thou art come From Sparta hither, and art here at home. We feel thy force still active, at this hour Enjoy immunity from priestly power,