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Think,

ye

masters iron-hearted, Lolling at your jorial 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, which 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, Fixed their tyrant's habitations

Where his whirlwinds answer-ne.

By our blood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries we have tasted,

Crossing in your barks the main ; By our sufferings, since ye brought us

To the man-degrading mart; All-sustained by patience taught us

Orly 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 prohoque
Deteriora sequor.

I own I am shocked 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 nium, 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 coined,
Qn 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 shocked, sir, like you, and answered

"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 sbare,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear."

They spoke, and Tom pondered -"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 po goad.

at If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang till they dropt' from the

tree'; But, 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 joined in the plan: He shared in the plunder, byt pitied the man.

THE

MORNING DREAM.

*Twas in the glad season of spring,

Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dreamed what I cannot but sings

So pleasant it seemed as I lay,
I dreamed that on ocean afiqat,

Far hence to the westward I sailed,
While the billows high-lifted the boat,
And the fresh blowing breeze never failed.

In the steerage a woman I saw,

Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impressed 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 appeared.
Some cloud's which had over us hung,

Fled, cbased 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 fashes be bore,
And stood looking out for his prey.

From Africa's sorrowful shore.

But soon as approaching the land

That goddess-like woman he viewed, The scourge he let fall from his hand,

With blood of his subjects imbrued.

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