But lives, when that exterior grace,
Which first inspired the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compaffionate or blind,
And will with fympathy endure
Thofe evils it would gladly cure:
But angry, coarse, and harsh expreffion
Shows love to be a mere profeffion;
Proves that the heart is none of his,
Or foon expels him if it is.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.

ORCED from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coaft I left forlorn;

To increase the ftranger's treasures,

O'er the raging billows borne.

Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though flave they have enroll'd me,
Minds are never to be fold.

Still in thought as free as ever,

What are England's rights, I ask,

Me from my delights to fever,
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 fame.

Why did all-creating Nature

Make the plant for which we toil? Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours muft dress the foil. Think, ye mafters iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards, Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords.

Is there, as ye fometimes tell us,
Is there One who reigns on high?
Has He bid you buy and sell us,

Speaking from his throne the sky? Afk Him, if your knotted fcourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws,. Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use?

Hark! He answers--Wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder fea with wrecks; Wafting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations

Afric's fons fhould undergo, Fix'd their tyrants' habitations

Where his whirlwinds anfwer-No.

By our blood in Afric wafted,

Ere our necks received the chain;

By the miseries that we tasted,
Croffing in

your barks the main ;

By our fufferings, fince ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
All fuftain'd by patience, taught us
Only by a broken heart;

Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till fome reason ye fhall find
Worthier of regard, and stronger
Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold, whofe fordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours!

What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and

Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without fugar and rum?
Efpecially fugar, fo needful we fee?

What, give up our defferts, our coffee, and tea!

Befides, 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 wifh might be faid; But, while they get riches by purchafing blacks, Pray tell me why we may not also go fnacks?

Your fcruples 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 affure you I faw it in print.

A youngster at school, more fedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test;
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And afk'd him to go and affift in the job.

He was shock'd, fir, like you, and answer'd—“ Oh no!

What! rob our good neighbour! I pray you don't

go;

Befides 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 fave 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 dropp'd from the

tree;

But fince they will take them, I think I'll go too, He will lofe none by me, though I get a few.”

His fcruples thus filenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to feize; He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan : He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.

THE MORNING DREAM.

WAS in the glad feafon of fpring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dream'd what I cannot but fing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.
I dream'd that, on ocean afloat,
Far hence to the weftward I fail'd,
While the billows high lifted the boat,

And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd.