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The maiden died-and long, in after years,
Did Zion's daughters mourn her fate with tears.

ANTHONY BENEZET.

FRIEND of the Afric! friend of the oppress’d !

Thou who wert cradled in a far-off clime,
Where bigotry and tyranny unbless'd,
With
gory

hand defaced the page of time; Wert thou forth driven by their stern control,

An infant fugitive across the deep,
To teach, in after years, thy pitying soul

O’er all the Afric's causeless wrongs to weep,
Where slavery's bitter tears the flag of freedom steep?

And thou didst noply plead for them; thy heart,

Thrilling to all the holy sympathies,
Of natural brotherhood, wept, to see the mart

Of commerce, with its human merchandize,
So crowded and polluted, and thy voice,

With the clear trumpet tones of God's own word, Rang through the guilty crowd, until no choice

Was left them but to tremble as they heard, Or bind with treble seal the feelings thou hadst stirr'd.

The ears of princes heard thee ; and the wise,

Touch'd by the mastery of thy earnestness, Bade their train'd spirits for a while to rise

From their profound research, and learn to bless Thy generous efforts, and with kindred zeal,

Led on by thee in duty's path to move; And kindled by thy sacred ardour, feel,

Like thee, that overflowing gush of love, That lifts man's selfish heart all narrow thoughts above.

The fetters of the slave are still unbroken;

But there will come, perchance, ere long, a day, When by their lips who wrong'd him, shall be spoken

The fiat of his freedom ;-and the ray

Of intellectual light shall radiance pour

On minds o'er which the gloom of darkness hung In treble folds impervious before,

By tyrants' hands around them rudely flung, To bind the chains that to both limb and spirit clung. Then shall their children learn to speak thy name,

With the full heart of gratitude, and know What thou hast done for them; and while they frame That history for their infants' ears, may grow

Perchance, in their own hearts, the likeness strong Of thy bright virtues ; so thou still shalt be, Even in thy sepulchre, their friend ;-and long

Shall those who love mankind, remember thee, Thou noble friend of those who pined in slavery.

THE SOLD.

I'LL to the dance! what boots it thus,

To brood o'er ills I cannot quell?
Amid the revel shout of mirth,
My bitter laugh shall mingle well.
I've toil'd beside my mates to-day,

To-night we'll join in seeming glee;
But when we part, with morning's light,

For aye, that parting glance will be.
I will not go !-this fire within,

Would choke me with its smother'd flames !
How could I tell the dear ones there,

Of that detested tyrant's claims?
I could endure the fetter's weight,

That I have borne with them so long,
But not to wear a stranger's chain,

And crouch beneath a stranger's thong.
Yet this must be my morrow's fate!

To part with all that gave my doom,
Dark as it was and desolate,

A ray of light amidst its gloom.

To bear the scourge, to wear the chain,

To toil with wearied heart and limb, Till death should end my lengthen'd pain,

Or worn old age my senses dim :This have I borne, and look'd to bear,

All bitter as such lot must be ; But drearier still my life must wear,

Beneath a stranger's tyranny. Alas! 't would be a happier lot,

If, ere to-morrow's doom shall come, My woes and wrongs were all forgot,

Amid the darkness of the tomb.

GLOOM. Do you

feel sorrowful? I sometimes do, When busy thought tells me the sufferings Of some in our south land. Their brows are not So fair as thine, by much, but yet they are Our sisters, for the mighty God hath given To them the boon of an immortal soul. Yet they are made through life's long years to toil, Scourge-driven like the brute ; and with the fine And delicate pulses of a human heart, Stirring to anguish in their bosoms, sold ! Ay, like the meanest household chattel, sold ! Vended from hand to hand, while with each wrench Their torn hearts bleed at every throbbing pore. Alas! how can I but feel sorrowful, To think

upon

their woes?

EVENING THOUGHTS.

How beautiful
The calm earth resteth in her quiet sleep!
There are no sounds of human life abroad,
And the soft voice of that one bird, whose plaint
Melteth upon the ear so soothingly,
Seems but the low breeze moulded into sound,

The shadows of the trees distinctly lie
Upon the earth unstirring, and no breath
Comes whispering among the tender leaves,
To wake them into playfulness.

The sky
Bendeth in loveliness above the earth,
With a few clouds drawn o'er it, beautiful
In the soft light, and exquisitely pure,
As if they knew no other home than heaven.
Oh, thus it is, God of the universe !
That thou wouldst sanctify with thy rich grace,
Our erring human hearts, that we might be,
When from the earth our day of life hath pass'd,
Dwellers in that bright world where all are pure
A world where sorrow cometh not, nor sin,
Nor the down-stooping ’neath the oppressor's hand.
Alas! that earthly things should be so fair,
And day by day harmoniously move on
In their allotted course, at thy command,
Dutiful and unwavering from their track,
And man, man only, who alone

may

know How beautiful thy ordinances are, Mock at thy holy will, and mar his soul With the dark stains of sin. Alas! that man, With thy pure law unveil'd before his eyes, Should bind the fetter on his brother's form, And smite him with the scourge, and bid hier pour His strength out on the earth, for no reward; And worse than this, wrench from his bleeding heart The dearest objects of his earthly love; And all that the oppressor's hoards may flow With Mammon's worthless treasures; meagre dust, Beside the priceless treasure of a soul ! Shall it be ever thus? Most Merciful ! Will man's hard heart be never touch'd with all The o'erflowings of thy love, and yield itself To gentle sympathies, till he shall learn The noble joy of pouring happiness Upon the heart of sorrow, and how sweet The pleasure is of shedding bliss abroad.

STORM

That wraps

The tempest mounts the sky! with hurrying sweep,
Driving across the heavens, cloud on cloud,
Which ever and anon the lightnings steep
In a red glare of flame, as they were proud
To make more visible the gloomy shroud,

the thunders :-Now its might is nigh! And faster peal and flame alternate crowd,

And the loosed winds sweep onward fearfully,
Outpouring on the earth the fountains of the sky.

”T is terrible-yet most sublimely grand !
Magnificently awful! how the heart
Shrinks from all earthly splendour, as we stand,
And view the pomp of the proud storm- I start,
As the fork'd flames their glance of brightness dart,
Yet scarce in terror, for the tempest's might,
Yields of its own sublimity a part,

To the wrapt thoughts, and urges up their flight,
With free and eagle wing, above their wonted height.

Yet soon to stoop again—the green earth lies
Spread out before me, and the heart will yield
To the sweet sympathy of human ties,
And downward bend from the excursive field
Of reverie, where it hud been upheld
With a strong writhe of thought, to blend again
With human sorrows-woes that might be heald,
If man would be no more the

scourge man, And loose his brother's limbs from slavery's crushing chain.

Yet even now, amid the heavy clouds
That long have wrapt the Afric's sky in gloom,
Ten-fold more deep than that which darkly shrouds
The face of nature, there at length hath come
The breaking in of light, which shall illume
With a strong glow, ere long, its whole expanse,
And, shining on destroy'd oppression's tomb,

O'er all the earth its holy light advance,
Brilliant and clear and wide as the first sunbeam's glance.

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