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How foft the velvet lap of Spring!
How fweet the Zephyr's violet wing!
Goddess of the plaintive fong,
That leads the melting heart along!
Oh bid thy voice of genial pow'r
Reach Contemplation's lonely bow'r;
And call the fage with tranced fight
To climb the mountain's steepy height;
To wing the kindling with, or fpread
O'er Thought's pale cheek enliv'ning red;
Come, hoary Pow'r with ferious eye,
Whofe thought explores yon diftant sky;
Now when the bufy world is ftill,
Nor pallion tempts the wav'ring will,
When fweeter hopes each pow'r controul,
And quiet whispers to the foul,
Now fweep from life th' illufive train
That dance in Folly's dizzy brain :
Be Reafon's fimple draught portray'd,
Where blends alternate light and fhade;
Bid dimpled Mirth, with thought belied,
Sport on the bubble's glitt'ring fide;
Bid Hope purfue the diftant boon,
And Phrenfy watch the fading moon;
Paint Superftition's starting eye,
And Wit that leers with gefture fly;
Let Cenfure whet her venom'd dart,
And green eyed Envy gnaw the heart;
Let Pleasure lie on flow'rs reclin'd,
While Anguish aims her shaft behind.

Hail, Sive fublime, whofe hallow'd cave Howls to the hoarfe deep's dafhing wave; Thee Solitude to Phoebus bore, Far on the lone deferted fhore, Where Orellano's rushing tide Roars on the rock's projected fide. Hence bursting o'er thy ripen'd mind, Beams all the father's thought refin'd: Hence oft, in filent vales unfeen, Thy footsteps print the fairy green; Or thy foul melts to ftrains of woe, That from the willow's quiv'ring bough Sweet warbling breathe-the zephyrs round O'er Dee's fmooth current waft the found, When foft on bending ofiers laid The broad fun trembling thro' the bed; All wild thy heav'n-rapt Fancy ftrays, Led thro' the foul-diffolving maze; Till Slumber downy-pinion'd, near Plants her ftrong fetlocks on thy car; The foul unfetter'd bursts away, And bafks enlarg'd in beamy day.

§ 123. Ode to Innocence. OGILVIE. TWAS when the flow-declining ray

Had ting'd the cloud with evening gold; No warbler pour'd the melting lay, No found difturb'd the fleeping fold: When by a murm'ring rill reclin'd Sat wrapt in thought a wand'ring fwaln; 'Calm peace compos'd his muting mind, And thus he rais'd the flowing ftrain:

"Hail, Innocence! celeftial maid! "What joys thy blufhing charms reveal! "Sweet as the arbour's cooling fhade, "And milder than the vernal gale.

"On Thee attends a radiant choir, "Soft-finiling Peace, and downy Reft; "With Love, that prompts the warbling lyre; "And Hope, that fooths the throbbing breaft, "Oh fent from heaven to haunt the grove, "Where fquinting Envy ne'er can come ! Nor pines the cheek with luckless love, "Nor Anguish chills the living bloom. "But fpotlefs Beauty, rob'd in white, "Sits on yon mofs-grown hill reclin'd; "Serene as heaven's unfllied light, "And pure as Delia's gentle mind.

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While hoarfe the cataract murmur'd on the gale, And chilling dews fwept thro' the murky dale; Along the hills the difmal tempeft howl'd, And lightnings flath'd, and deep the thunder roll'd; Beneath a leaflefs tree, ere morn arofe, The flave Adala thus laments his woes : Ye grifly fpectres, gather round my feat, From caves unbleft, that wretches' groans repeat! Terrific forms, from mifty lakes arife! And bloody meteors threaten thro' the fkies! Oh curs'd deftroyers of our hapless race, Of human kind the terror and difgrace Lo! hofts of dufky captives, to my view, Demand a deep revenge 1 demand their due! Ard


And frowning chiefs now dart athwart the gloom,, To till his glebe employs Arcona's care,

And o'er the falt fea wave pronounce your doom:
But Gods are just, and oft the stroke forbear,
To plunge the guilty in tenfold defpair.

Fo Naftal's God he nightly makes his pray'r;
His mind at eafe, of Chriftian truths he'll boaft-
He has no wife, no lovely offspring loft.
Gay his favannah blooms, while mine appears
Scorch'd up with heat,or moift with blood and tears.
Cheerful his hearth in chilling winter burns,
While to the ftorin the fad Adala mourns.

Lift high the fcourge, my foul the rack difdains;
I pant for freedom and my native plains!
With limbs benumb'd my poor companions lie;
Opprets'd by pain and want the aged figh;
Thro' reedy huts the driving tempeft pours,
Their feftering wounds receive the fickly fhow'rs;
In madd'ning draughts our lords their fenfes fteep,
And doom their flaves to ftripes and death in fleep;
Now, while the bitter blaft furrounds my head,
To times long past my reflefs foul is led,
Far, far beyond the azure hills, to groves
Of ruddy fruit, where beauty fearlefs roves-
O blifsful feats! O felf-approving joys!
Nature's plain dictates! ignorance of vice!
O guiltless hours! Our cares and wants were few,
No arts of luxury or deceit we knew.
Our labour, fport-to tend our cottage care,
Or from the palm the lufcious juice prepare;
To fit indulging love's delufive dream,
And fnare the filver tenants of the ftream;
Or (nobler toil!) to aim the deadly blow
With dext'rous art against the spotted foe;
O days with youthful daring mark 'd' t was
I dragg'd the fhaggy monfter from his den,
And boldly down the rocky mountain's fide
Hurl'd the grim panther in the foaming tide.
Our healthful fports a daily feast afford,
And even ftill found us at the focial board.

Lift high the fcourge, my foul the rack difdains;
I pant for freedom and my native plains!
And wait for juftice on another shore è
Shall I his holy prophet's aid implore,

Or, rushing down yon mountain's craggy fteep,
End all my forrows in the fullen deep?

A cliff there hangs in yon grey morning cloud,
The dathing wave beneath roars harth and loud-
But doubts and fears involve my anxious mind.
Dubious, if fent beyond th' expanded main,
The gulf of death once pafs'd, what thore we find.
This foul fhall feek its native realms again :
Or if in gloomy mifts condemn'd to lie,
Beyond the limits of yon arching fky.
A better profpect oft my spirit cheers,
And in my dreams the vale of peace appears,
And fleeting vifions of my former life:
thenly hoary fire I clafp, my long-loft wife,

And oft I kifs my gentle babes in fleep,
Fill with the founding whip I'm wak'd to weep.

Can I forget, ah me! the fatal day,
When half the vale of peace was fwept away!
Th' affrighted maids in vain the gods implore,
And weeping view from far the happy fhore;
The frantic dames impatient ruffians feize,
And infants fhriek, and clap their mothers' knees;
With galling fetters foon their limbs are bound,
And groans throughout the noilome bark refound.
Why was I bound! why did not Whydah fee
Adala gain or death or victory!
No ftorms arife, no waves revengeful roar,
To dafh the monfters on our injur'd fhore.
Long o'er the foaming deep to worlds unknown,
By envious winds the bulky veffel's blown,
While by difeafe and chains the weak expire,
Or parch'd endure the flow confuming fire.
Who'd in this land of many forrows live,
Where death's the only comfort tyrants give?
Tyrants unbleft! Each proud of strict command,
Nor age nor ficknefs holds the iron hand;
Whole hearts, in adamant involv'd, defpife
The drooping female's tears, the infant's cries,
From whofe ftern brows no grateful icok e'er beams,
Whose blufhlefs front nor rape nor murder fhames.

Lifthigh the fcourge, my foul the rack difdain; I paut for freedom and my native plains! Chiefs of the earth, and monarchs of the fea, Who vaunt your hardy ancestors were free; Whofe teachers plead th' opprefs'd and injur'd's


And prove the wifdom of your prophet's laws;
To force and fraud if justice must give place,
You 're dragg'd to flavery by fome rougher race.
Some rougher race your flocks shall force away,
Like Afric's fons your children must obey;
The very Gods that view our conftant toil,
Shall fee your offspring till a ruder soil,
The pain of thirst and pinching hunger know,
And all the torments that from bondage flow,
The fweets of peace, the lafting joys of love.
When,far remov'd from Chriftian worlds, we prove

But, hark! the whip's harth echo thro' the trees!
On every trembling limb fresh horrors feize-
Alas! 'tis morn, and here I fit alone-
Be ftrong, my foul, and part without a groan!
Ruffians, proceed! Adala ne'er fhall fwerve,
Prepare the rack, and strain each aching nerve


Lift high the fcourge, my foulthe rack difdains;
pant for freedom and my native plains.
Thou God, who gild'ft with light the rifing day!
Who life difpenfest by thy genial ray!
Will thy flow vengeance never, never fall,
But undiftinguifh'd favour thine on all ?
O hear a fuppliant wretch's laft, fad pray'r!
Dart fierceft rage! infect the ambient air!
This pallid race, whofe hearts are bound in fteel,
By dint of fuffering teach them how to feel.

Nor all I blame'; for Naftal, friend to peace,
Thro' his wide paftures bids oppreffion ceafe *;
No drivers goad, no galling fetters bind,
Nor ftern compulfion damps th' exalted mind.
There ftrong Arcona 's fated to enjoy
Domeftic fweets, and rear his progeny;

The Quakers in America have fet free all their Negroes, and allow them wages as other fervants.

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Or, to fome defpot's lawlefs will betray'd,
Give them to know what wretches they have made!
Beneath the lafh let them refign their breath,
Or court, in chains, the clay-cold hand of death.
Or, worst of ills! within each callous breast,
Cherish uncurb'd the dark internal peft;
Bid Av'rice fwell with undiminish'd rage,
While no new worlds th' accurfed thirft affuage;
Then bid the monsters on each other turn,
The fury paffions in diforder burn;
Bid Difcord flourish, civil crimes increase,
Nor one fond with arife that pleads for peace-
Till, with their crimes in wild confufion hurl'd,
They wake t' eternal anguifh in a future world.

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§ 125. Evening, or the Fugitive. An Ameri-
can Eclogue. GREGORY.


SAY whither, wand rer, points thy cheerlefs way.
When announce the clofe of

[O! had I died, and left the name of flave
Deep, deep entomb'd within an carly grave!
O! had I died, ere ruthless fates conftrain,
With thee enthrall'd, to crofs the weftern main!
O to have met a glorious death in arms,
And ne'er beheld Melinda's fatal charms!
Time would be fhort, and memory would fail,
To dwell diftinctly on the various tale.
Tedious to tell what treach'rous arts were tried,
To footh the fmart of ftill revolting pride.
I liv'd, and lov'd-then kifs'd the fatal chain;
No joy but one to cheer a life of pain.
Yet witnefs bear, thou dear departed ghost,
That lonely rov'ft thy Gambia's facred coaft!
How fweet the toil that met the morning's ray,
How light the labour that o'er-lafted day!
The reed-built hovel, and the fcanty fare,
Imperial blifs could give, Melinda there!
Soft was my pillow, on thy gentle breast,

When o'er-prefs'd Nature droop'd in want of reft?
And a tear my eye,
Thine was the tear, and thine the bursting figh.
Blifs I could boaft, unenvied had it pafs'd,
But blifs too great for hapless flaves to laft.

A wretch, who banifh'd from his native clime,
Defil'd with many a black and monftrous crime,
Prefided o'er us, and with iron hand
In him each hellifh paffion rudely glow'd,
Held favage fway o'er all the fervile band.
Him luft infernal, one fad ev'ning, led
And cruelty in him moft cruel fhew'd.
T'invade the chaftenefs of my marriage bed:
My wife preferv'd, and had his guilt chaftis'd
I chanc'd to approach-the caitiff I furpris'd-
While full with vengeance boil'd my wounded
But chance referv'd him for a bafer part. [heart:
Meanwhile, o'erjoy'd that vice e'en once had fail'd,
I blefs'd the gods that innocence prevail'd.

The baffled villain, now a foe profefs'd,
Rolls fcenes of blood within his rankling breaft;
With coward arts he forg'd a crafty tale;
And hands unrighteous poize the partial fcale.
Imputed crimes to crufh the weak fuffice,
Hearfay is guilt, and damning fact furmife.
Where uncurb'd will ufurps the place of laws,
No friendly pleader takes the wretch's cause.
Our tyrant's fears each want of proof fupplied,
We ftand condemn'd, unqueftion'd, and untried.


In yon wild wafte no friendly roof thou'lt find
The haunt or ferpents and the favage kind.
And fure rememb'rance mocks me, or I trace
In thine the femblance of Zamboia's face?
Yet fcarce thy felf! for in thy alter'd eye
I read the records of hard destiny.

From thy rack'd bofom fighs that ceafelefs flow,
A man befpeak thee exercis'd in woc.
Say, then, what chance has burft thy rigid chains,
Has led thee frantic o'er thefe diftant plains?
What potent forrows can thy peace infest ?
What crimes conceal'd prey on thy anxious breaft?


No crimes this heart infeft, this hand defile,
Or frantic drive me o'er a foreign foil.
A murder'd wife and wrongs unmatch'd I mourn,
And buried joys that never fhall return !
If then thou'rt tempted by the traitor's meed,
Take this poor life, and profper by the deed!


Not the rich produce of Angola's shore,
Not all the mifer's heap'd and glittering ftore,
Not all that pride would grafp, or pomp difplay,
Should tempt this hand the wretched to betray.
No traitors dwell within this bleft domain,
The friends of peace we live, a guileless train.
Grief dims thy eye, or gladly wouldst thou fee
Thy lov'd Mombaze yet furvives in me.
Canft thou forget? I taught thy youth to dare
The fylvan herd, and wage the defp'rate war.
Canft thou forget? One common lot we diew,
With thee inchain'd, a captive's fate I knew.
Diftruft me not, but unreferv'd difclofe
The anxious tale that in thy bofom glows.
To part our griefs is oft to mitigate,

And focial forrows blunt the darts of fate.


Dear to my fight that form, and doubly dear
Thy well-known accents meet Zamboia's car,

O! had the grief and fhame been all my own,
And the black vengeance lit on me alone!
But harfher fates a harder curfe decreed;
Thefe eyes were doom'd to fee Melinda bleed.
I faw her by relentless ruffians bound,
The brandifh'd fcourge inflict the mortal wound;
Her tender frame abus'd, and mangled o'er,
I faw her welt'ring in a flood of gore.
The murd'rous fcene had foon a dreadful clofe-
And do I live! and can I fpeak my wees!
pregnant womb no, longer could sustain
The public fhame, and agony of pain;
A birth abortive robb'd her of her breath,
And pangs convulfive feal'd her eyes in death.

*This Eclogue was written during the American war.

One only pledge my weary foul detains,
This hapless infant, all that now remains;
The mournful image of my once-lov'd wife,
And ties me down awhile to hated life.
Elfe this bold hand thould liberty reftore,
And my rapt fpirit feck a happier thore.
Thro' devious paths with timid hafte we fly,
Where yon blue mountains meet the bending

Nor ferpents' haunts I dread, nor deferts drear,
The master-favage, Man, alone I fear.


Since from our native realms compell'd to

Such pointed forrows have not touch'd my heart.
Infatiate plunderers! could it not fuffice
To rend, inhuman, all the focial ties?
From guiltlefs joys that blefs'd our native foil,
Dragg'd to a life of mifery and toil;
Would you yet take the little God has given,
And intercept the gracious dews of Heaven?
Your rage
for blood, wild as your thirst of gain,
Shall no refpects, not truths divine, rettrain?
'Th' eternal fabric can a name undo?
Is rape and murder fanctified in you?
And us, what laws, as impious as fevere,
Forbid the common rites of man to fhare?

Didst thou, creative Power! thy views confine:
For one proud race the spacious earth defign?
For them alone does plenty deck the vale,
Bluth in the fruit, and tinge the fcented gole?
For them the feafons all their fweets unfold?
Blooms the fresh rofe, and thines the waving gold
O no! all bounteous is thy equal hand,
And thy fix'd laws irrevocable stand!
Haplefs Zamboia! had it been thy fate
With me to fhare my more propitious state;
Thy foul had breath'd no impious with to die,
Nor the big tear had trembled in thine eve.
Disjoin'd from thee, I too to flavery went;
But Heaven a father, not a master, lent.
He feems as Virtue's felf in moital guife;
Tho' wealthy, fimple, and tho' medelt, wife.
Bleft be the hand that life and freedom gave !
That pow'r can boaft, exerted but to fave!
Bleft the fage tongue that ford the vacant mind,
The manners foften'd, and the heart refin'd!
That, fill to Heaven's unerring dictates true,
Eternal truth unfolded to our view!

But, come! thy faint and weary limbs repofe,
Forgetful of thy fears, thy griefs compofe;
By morning's dawn with carneft foot I speed,
Nor fleep these eyes till I behold thee freed.
Some wealth I have; and, did I prize it more,
Well fpar'd for this I deem the facred store.

So talk'd thefe friends, and to the cottage hafte;
While fad Zamboia his purfuers trac'd.
The ruffian band arreft the hapless twain,
And pray'rs, and tears, and promifes are vain :
Their vengeful fervour, no-not gifts abate;
But, bound in chains, they drag him to his fate

§ 126. A Defeription of a Parifb Poor Hone.


THEIRS is von houfe that holds the parish poor,

Whofe walls of mud fcarce bear the broken

There, where the putrid vapours flagging plav,
And the dull wheel hums doleful thro' the day:
There children dwell who know no parents' care;
Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there;
Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed,
Forfeken wives, and mothers never wed;
Dej ted widows with unheeded tears,
The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they!
And crippled age with more than childhood fears!
The moping idiot, and the madman gay.

Here too the fick their final doom receive, Here brought, amid the fcenes of grief, to grieve: Where the loud groans from fome fad chamber flow,

Mix'd with the clamours of the crowd below;
Here forrowing they each kindred forrow fcan,
And the cold charities of man to man:
Whofe laws indeed for ruin'd age provide,
And ftrong compulfion plucks the fcrap from

But ftill that scrap is bought with many a sigh,
And pride embitters what it can't deny.

Some jaring nerve that baffles your repofe;
Say ye, opprefs'd by fome fantastic woes,
Who prefs the downy couch, while flaves advance
With timid eye, to read the diftant glance;
Who with fad prayers the weary doctor teafe
To name the nameless ever-new difeafe;
Who with mock-patience dire complaints endure,
Which real pain, and that alone, can cure;
How would ye bear in real pain to lie,
Defpis'd, neglected, left alone to die?
How would ye bear to draw your latest breath,
Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?

Such is that room which one rude beam divides,
And naked rafters form the floping fides;
Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are feen,
And lath and mud are all that lie between:
Save one dull pane,that, coartely patch d, gives way
To the rude tempeft, yet excludes the day:
Here, on a matted flock, with duft o'erfpread,
The drooping wretch reclines his languid head;
For him no hand the cordial cup applies,
Nor wipes the tear that ftagnates in his eyes;
No friends with foft difcourfe his pain beguile,
Nor promife hope till sickness wears a smile.

$127. Defeription of a Country Apothecary. CRABBE BUT foon a loud and hafty fummons calls,

Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the walls:
Anon a figure enters, quaintly near,
All pride and bus'nefs, buftle and conceit;
Vich locks unalter'd by these scenes of woe,
With speed that, entering, fpeaks his hafte to go;

* A higher reward is generally offered for the head of a fugitive negro than for bringing him alive.


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Fain would he afk the parish priest to prove His title certain to the joys above;

For this he fends the murmuring nurse, who calls
The holy ftranger to thefe difmal walls;
And doth not he, the pious man, appear,
He, "paffing rich with forty pounds a year?"
Ah no a fhepherd of a different stock,
And far unlike him, feeds this little flock;
A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's talk
As much as God or man can fairly afk;
The rest he gives to loves and labours light,
To fields the morning, and to feafts the night;
None better skill'd the noify pack to guide,
To urge their chace, to cheer them, or to chide;
Sure in his hot, his game he feldom mifs'd,
And feldom fail'd to win his game at whift;
Then, while fuch honours bloom around his head,
Shall he fit fadly by the fick man's bed,
To raife the hope he feels not, or with zeal
To combat fears that ev'n the pious feel?

§ 129. The Reafon for defcribing the Vices of the Village. CRABBE.

While Sloth with many a pang torments her flave, Fear waits on guilt, and Danger thakes the brave.

YET why, you afk, these humble crimes relate, Why make the poor as guilty as the great To fhew the great, thofe mightier fons of pride, How near in vice the loweft are allied; Such are their natures, and their paffions fuch, But thefe difguife too little, thofe too much : So thall the man of pow'r and pleasure fee In his own flave as vile a wretch as he; In his luxuriant lord the servant find His own low pleasures and degenerate mind: And each in all the kindred vices trace Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race; Who, a fhort time in varied fortune patt, Die, and are equal in the dust at last. And you, ye poor, who ftill lament your fate, Forbear to envy thofe reckon great; you And know, amid those bleflings they poffefs, They are, like you, the victims of distress,


§ 130. Apology for Vagrants. ANON. FOR him, who, loft to ev'ry hope of life,

Has long with fortune held unequal strife, Known to no human love, no human care, The friendless, homeless object of defpair; For the poor vagrant feel, while he complains, Nor from fad freedom fend to fadder chains. Alike, if folly or misfortune brought

Thofe laft of woes his evil days have wrought; Relieve with focial mercy, and, with me, Folly's misfortune in the first degree.

Perhaps on fome inhofpitable thore The houfeleis wretch a widow'd parent hore; Who, then no more by golden profpects led, Of the poor Indian begg'd a leafy bed. Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps that parent mourn'd her soldier slain; Bent o'er her babe, her eye diffolv'd in dew, The big drops mingling with the milk he drew, Gave the fad prefage of his future years, The child of mifery baptiz'd in tears!

$131. Epifile to a young Gentleman, on bis leaving Eton School. By Dr. ROBERIS. SINCE now a nobler fcene awakes thy care,

Since manhood dawning, to fair Granta's tow'rs, Where once in life's gay fpring I lov'd to roam, Invites thy willing fteps; accept, dear youth, This parting ftrain; accept the fervent pray'r Of him who loves thee with a paffion pure As ever friendship dropp'd in human heart; Thro' all the puzzled and perplexed round The prayer, That he who guides the hand of youth Of life's meand'ring path, upon thy head May fhower down every blefling, every joy, Which health, which virtue, and which fame cau give!

Yet think not I will deign to flatter thee: Shall he, the guardian of thy faith and truth, The guide, the pilot of thy tender years, Teach thy young heart to feel a fpurious glow At undeferved praife? Perifh the flave Whole venal breath in youth's unpractis'd ear Pours poifon'd flattery, and corrupts the foul With vain conceit; whofe bafe ungenerous art Fawns on the vice, which fome with honcft hand Have torn for ever from the bleeding breast !

Say, gentle youth, remember'st thou the day When o'er thy tender fhoulders first I hung The golden lyre, and taught thy trembling hand Totouch th'accordant ftrings? From that bleft hour I've feen thee panting up the hill of fame; Thy little heart beat high with honeft praise, Thy check was fluth'd, and oft thy fparkling eye Shot flames of young ambition. Never quench That generous ardour in thy virtuous breast. Sweet is the concord of harinonious founds, When the foft lute or pealing organ ftrikes The well-attemper'd ear; fweet is the breath, Of honeft love, when nymph and gentle fivain Waft

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