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You are so deaf, the lady cried
(And raised her voice, and frown'd beside,
You are so sadly deaf, my dear,
What shall I do to make you hear ?

Dismiss poor Harry! he replies ;
Some people are more nice than wise:
For one slight trespass all this stir ?
What if he did ride whip and spur,
'Twas but a mile-your favourite horse
Will never look one hair the worse.

Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing-
Child! I am rather hard of hearing--
Yes, truly; one must scream and bawl:
I tell you, you can't hear at all!
Then, with a voice exceeding low,
No matter if you hear or no.

Alas! and is domestic strife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear’d,
As to be wantonly incurr'd,
To gratify a fretful passion,
On every trivial provocation ?
The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear;
And something, every day they liva,
To pity, and perhaps forgive.
But if infirmities, that fall
In common to the lot of all,
A blemish or a sense impair’d,
Are crimes so little to be spared,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jár,
And tumult, and intestine war.

The love that cheers life's latest stage,
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserved by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention
But lives, when that exterior grace.
Which first inspired the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate or blind,

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And will with sympathy endure
Those evils, it would gladly cure;
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression
Shews love to be a mere profession;
Proves that the heart is none of his;
Or soon expels him if it is.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT,
FORCED from home and an its pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger's treasures,

O’er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,

Paid my price in paltry gold; But, though slave they have enroll'd 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 your barks the main ;
By our sufferings, since ye brought us

To the man-degrading mart;
All sustain'd by patience taught us

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.
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings

Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that you have human feelings,

Ere you proudly question ours !

PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.

• Video meliora proboque,
Deteriora sequor.'--

I own I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves,
And fear those who buy them and sell them, are knaves;
What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and groans,
Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.
I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see;
What, give up our deserts, our coffee, and tea!

Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains;
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will,
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still

If foreigners likewise would give up the trade,
Much more in behalf of your wish might be said;
But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks,
Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks?
Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind
A story so pat, you may think it is coin'd,
On purpose to answer you, out of my mint ;
But I can assure you I saw it in print.

A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test;
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And asked him to go and assist in the job.

He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd, Oh no!
What! rob our good neighbour! I pray you don't go;
Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread,
Then think of his children, for they must be fed.'
• You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;
If you will go with us, you shall have a share,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.
They spoke, and Tom ponder'd— I see they will go:
Poor man! what a pity to injure him so !
Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could,
But staying behind will do him no good.
• If the matter depended alone upon me,
His apples might hang, till they drop from the tree;
Bui, since they will take them, I think I'll go too,
He will lose none by me, though I get a few.'
His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize;
He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan :
He shar'd in the plunder, but pitied the man.

THE MORNING DREAM.
'Twas in the glad season of spring,

Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dream'd what I cannot but sing,

So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.
I dream'd that, on ocean afloat,

Far hence to the westward I sail'd, While the billows high-lifted the boat,

And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd.

In the steerage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impress'd me with awe,

Ne'er taught me by woman before. She sat, and a shield at her side

Shed light, like a sun on the waves, And smiling divinely, she cried

• I go to make freemen of slaves.' Then raising her voice to a strain,

The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sung of the slave's broken chain,

Wherever her glory appear'd.
Some clouds, which had over us hung,

Fled, chased by her melody clear,
And methought while she liberty sung,

'Twas liberty only to hear. Thus swiftly dividing the flood,

To a slave-cultured island we came,
Where a demon, her enemy, stood-

Oppression his terrible name.
In his hand, as the sign of his sway,

A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
And stood looking out for his prey

From Africa's sorrowful shore.

But soon as approaching the land

That goddess-like woman he view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand,

With blood of his subjects imbrued.

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