The bowl brief pleasure can bestow,
The purple cannot shield from woe!

But, King of Persia, thou art blest,
For Heaven who raised thee thus the world above,

Hath made the happy in Apame's love!

Lord of the earth! we will not raise
The temple to thy bounded praise.

For thee no victim need expire;
For thee no altar blaze with hallowed fire.

The burning City flames for thee,
Thive Altar is the field of victory!

Thy sacred Majesty to bless
Man a self-offer'd victim freely flies;

To thee he sacrifices Happiness

And Peace, and Love's endearing ties; To thee a Slave he lives, for thee a Slave he dies.


Oh! I have seen him fondly trace
The heavenly features of her face,
Rove o'er her form with eager eye,
And sigh and Gaze,


and sigh.
Lo! from liis brow with mimic frown
Apame takes the sacred crown;
Those sparkling eyes, that radiant face,
Give to the diadem new grace:
And subject to a Woman's laws,
Darius sees, and smiles applause!

Hush'd was the lute, the Hebrew ceased to sing;
The shout rush'd forth, For ever live the King!
Loud was the uproar, as when Rome's decree
Pronounced Achaia once again was free;
Assembled Greece enrapt with food belief
Heard the false boon, and bless'd the treacherous Chief.
Each breast with freedom's holy ardour glows,
From every voice the

cry of rapture rose;
Their thundering clamours rend the astonished sky,
And birds o'erpassing hear, and drop, and die.
Thus o'er the Persian dome their plaudits ring,
And the high hall re-echoed-Live the King!
The Mutes bow'd reverent down before their Lord,
The assembled Satraps envied and adored;
Joy sparkled in the Monarch's conscious eyes,
And his pleased pride already doom'd the prize.

He ceased, and silent still remain d the throng,
While rapt attention own'd the power of song
Then, loud as when the wintry whirlwinds blow,
From every voice the thundering plaudits flow;
Darius smiled, Apame's sparkling eyes
Glanced on the king, and Woman won the prize.

Silent they saw Zorobabel advance :
Quick on Apame shot his timid glance;
With downward eye he paused a moment mute,
Then with light finger touch'd the softer lute.
Apame knew the Hebrew's grateful cause,
And bent hier head, and sweetly smiled applause.

Why is the warrior's cheek so red?
Why downward droops his musing head?
Why that slow step, that faint advance,
That keen yet quick retreating glance ;
That crested head in war towerd high,
No backward glance disgraced that eye,
No flushing fear that cheek o'erspread,
When stern he strode o'er heaps of dead:
Strange tumult now his bosom moves, -
The Warrior fears because he loves.

Now silent sate the expectant crowd: Alone
The victor llebrew gazed not on the throne ;
With deeper hue his cheek distemper'd glows,
With statelier stature loflier now he rose;
Heavenward he gazed, regardless of the throng,
And pour'd with awful voice sublimer song,

Ancient of days! Eternal Truth! one hymn,

One holier strain the Bard shall raise to thee, Thee Powerful! Thec Benevolent! Thee Just! Friend! Father! All in All!—The Vine's rich blood, The Monarch's might, and Woman's conquering charms,

These shall we praise alone?-0 ye who sit Beneath your vine, and quaff at evening hour The healthful bowl, remember Him whose dews, Whose rains, whose sun, matured the growing fruit,

Creator and Preserver!-Reverence Him.
O thou who from thy throne dispensest life

Aud death, for He hath delegated power,
And thou shalt one day at the throne of God
Render thy strict account!-Oye who gaze

Eurapt on Beauty's fascinating form,
Gaze on with love, and loving beauty, learn

To shun abhorrent all the mental eye
Beholds deform'd and foul; for so shall Love
Climb to the source of goodness. God of truth'

All-Just! All-Mighty! I should ill deserve
Thy noblest gift, the gift divine of song,

If, so content with ear-deep melodies,
To please all-profitless, I did not pour
Severer strains; of Truth--eteroal Truth,

Unchanging Jusiice, universal Love.
Such strains awake the Soul to loftiest thoughts;

Such strains the blessed Spirits of the Good
Waft, grateful incense! to the Halls of Heaven.
The dying notes still murmur'd on the string,
When from his throne arose the raptured king.
About to speak he stood, and waved his hand,
And all-expectant sate the obedient band.

Why does the Youth delight to rove

Amid the dark and lonely grove ? Why in the throng where all are gay, With absent eyes from gaiety distraught,

Sits be alone in silent thought?

Silent he sits, for far away His passion'd soul delights to stray; Recluse he roves as if he fain would shun All human-kind, because he loves but One!

Yes, King of Persia, thou art blest!

But not because the sparkling bowl To rapture elevates thy waken'd soul;

But not because of Power possest;

Nor that the Nations dread thy nod,
Avd Princes reverence thee their earthly God!

Even on a Monarch's solitude
Will Care, dark visitant, intrude;

Then just and generous, thus the Monarch cries, « Be thine, Zorobabel, the well-earu'd prize.

of gold;

For the pale fiend cold-hearted Commerce there

Hath spread his toils accursed wide and far, And calls, to share the prey, his kindred Demon War.


The purple robe of state thy form shall fold,
The beverage sparkle in thy cup
The golden couch, the car, and honour'd chain,
Requite the merits of thy favour'd strain,
And raised supreme the ennobled race among
Be call'd MY COUSIN for the victor song.
Nor these alone the victor song shall bless,
Ask what thou wilt, and what thou wilt possess.»
« Fallen is Jerusalem !» the Hebrew cries,
And patriot anguish fills his streaming cyes,
« Hurl'd to the earth by Rapine's vengeful rod,
Polluted lies the temple of our God;
Far in a foreign land her sons remain,
Hear the keen taunt, and drag the captive chain ;
Jo fruitless woe they wear the wearying years,
And steep the bread of bitterness in tears.
O monarch, greatest, mildest, best of men,
Restore us to those ruined walls again!
Allow us to rebuild that sacred dome,
To live in liberty, and die at Home.»

Way dost thou beat thy breast and rend thine hair,

And to the deaf sea pour thy frantic cries ?

Before the gale the laden vessel flies; The Heavens all-favouring smile, the breeze is fair;

Hark to the clamours of the exulting crew!
Hark how their thunders mock the patient skies !
Why dost thou shriek, and strain thy red-swolu eyes,

As the white sail is lessening from thy view?
Go pine in want and anguish and despair,
There is no mercy found in human-kind!
Go, Widow, to thy grave and rest thee there!

But may the God of justice bid the wind Whelm that curst bark beneath the niountain wave,

And bless with Liberty and Death the Slave!


So spake Zorobabel. — Thus Woman's praise
Availed again Jerusalem to raise,
Calld forth the sanction of the Despot's nod,
And freed the Nation best beloved of God.




Ou, he is worn with loil! the big drops run Down his dark cheek; hold-hold thy merciless hand,

Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command
O'erwearied nature sinks. The scorching Sun,

As pitiless as proud Prosperity,
Darts on him his full beams: gasping he lies
Arraigning with his looks the patient skies,

While that inhuman trader lifts on high
The mavgling scourge. Oye who at your ease
Sip the blood-sweeteu'd beverage! thoughts like these

Haply ye scorn: I thank thee, Gracious God,

That I do feel upon my cheek the glow
Of indignation, when beneath the rod
A sable brother writhes in silent woe.

Ilold your mad hands! for ever on your plain
Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood ?

For ever must your Niger's tainted flood

Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain? Hold your mad hands! what demon prompts to rear

The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore
Cau Hell-sprung Glory claim the feast of gore,

With laurels water'd by the widow's tear Wreathing liis helmet crown?---Lift high the spear!

And like the desolating whirlwind's sweep,

Plunge ye yon bark of anguish in the deep; 1 When first the Abolition of the StaYR-TRADE was agitated in England, the friends of humanity endeavoured by two means to accomplish it-to destroy the Trade immediately by the interference of Government; or by the disuse of West-Indian productions: a slow but certain method. For a wbile Government held the language of Justice, and individuals with enthusiasm banished supar from their tables. This enthusiasm soon cooled ; the majority of those who bad made this sacrifice (I prostitute the word, but such bey thought it). persuaded themselves that parliament would do all, and that individual efforts were no longer necessary. Thus ended the one attempt; it is not difficult to say why the other has failed, -it is not disticult, when the minister las once found himself in the minority, and on the side of Justice.Would to God that the interests of those who dispose of us as they please, had been as closely connected with the preservation of Peace and Liberty, as with the continuance of this traffic in human flesh!

There are yet two other methods remaining, by which this traffic will probably be abolished-by the introduction of East-Indian or maple sugar, or by thu just and general rebellion of the Negroes.

To these past and present prospects the following Poems occasionally allude: to the English custom of exciting wars upon the slave-coast that they may purchase prisoners, and to the punishment sometimes inflicted upon a Negro for Murder, of which Hector St John was an eye-witness.

'T is night; the mercenary tyrants sleep

As undisturb'd as Justice! but no more
The wretched Slave, as on his native shore,
Rests on his reedy coueh: he wakes to weep!
Though through the toil and anguish of the day
No tear escaped him, not one suffering groan
Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone

In bitterness; thinking that far away Though the gay Negroes join the midnight song,

Though merriment resounds on Niger's shore, She whom he loves far from the cheerful throng

Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door With dim-grown eye, silent and woe-begone, And weeps

for him who will return no more.


Did then the Negro rear at last the Sword Of Vengeance? drench'd he deep its thirsty blade

In the hard heart of his tyrannic Jord?
Oh! who shall blame him? through the midnight shade
Sull o'er his tortured memory rush'd the thought

Of every past deliglit; his native grove,
Friendship's best joys, and Liberty and Love,

All lost for ever! Then Remembrance wrought

His soul to madness : round his restless bed Freedom's pale spectre stalk'd, with a stern smile

Pointing the wounds of Slavery, the while She shook her chains and hung her sullen head: No more on Heaven he calls with fruitless breath, But sweetens with revenge the draught of death.

By the scourges blackend o'er
And stiff and hard with human gore,
By every groan of deep distress,
By every curse of wretchedness,
By all the train of Crimes that flow
From the hopelessness of Woe,
By cvery drop of blood bespilt,
Ву Afric's wrongs and Europe's guilt,
Awake! arise! avenge!


High in the air exposed the Slave is hung, To all the birds of Heaven, their living food! He groans not, though awaked by that fierce Sun

New tortures live to drink their parent blood! He groans not, though the gorging Vulture tear The quivering fibre! Hither gaze,


ye Who tore this Man from Peace and Liberty! Gaze hither, ye who weigh with scrupulous care The right and prudent; for beyond the grave There is another world !- And call to mind, Erc your decrees proclaim to all mankind

Murder is legalized, that there the Slave, Before the Eternal, « thunder-tongued shall plead Against the deep damnation of




And thou hast heard ! and o'er their blood-fed plains
Swept thine avenging hurricanes;
And bade thy storms with whirlwind roar
Dash their proud navies on the shore;
And where their armies claim'd the fight
Witber'd the warrior's might;

And o'er the unholy host with bapeful breath,
There, Genius, thou hast breathed the gales of Death,




In September, 1798, a Dissenting Minister of Bristol, discovered a Sailor in the neighbourhood of ibat City, groaning and praying in a cow-house. The circumstance which occasioned his agony of mind is detailed in the annexed Ballad, without the slightest addition or alteration. By prosenting it as a Poem the story is made more pub lic, and such stories ought to be made as public as possible.

It was a Christian minister,

Who, in the month of flowers, Walkd fortlı at eve amid the fields

Near Bristol's ancient towers.

TO THE GENIUS OF AFRICA. O tuou, who from ihe mountain's height Roll'st down thy clouds with all their weight

Of waters to old Nile's majestic tide;

Or o'er the dark sepulchral plain
Recallest Carthage in her ancient pride,

The Mistress of the Main;
Hear, Genius, hear thy children's cry!
Not always shouldst thou love to brood

Stera o'er the desert solitude,
Where seas of Sand toss their hot surges high;

Nor, Genius, should the midnight song
Detain thee in some milder mood

The palmy plains among,
Where Gambia to the torch's light
Flows radiant through the awaken'd night.

When from a lonely out-house breathed,

He heard a voice of woe, And groans which less might seem from pain,

Than wretchedness to flow:

Heart-rending groans they were, with words

Of bitterest despair,
Yet with the holy name of Christ
Pronounced in broken


The Christian minister went in,

A sailor there he sees, Whose hands were lifted up to Heaven,

And he was on his knees.

Ah, linger not to hear the song!
Genius, avenge thy children's wrong!
The Demon Avarice on your shore

Pours all the horrors of his train,
And hark! where from the field of gore

Howls the hyena o'er the slain! Lo! where the flaming village fires the skies!

Avenging Power, awake! arise!

Nor did the Sailor so intent

His entering footsteps heed, But now «Our Father» said, and now

His half-forgotten creed;

Arise, thy children's wrongs redress! Ah, heed the mother's wretchedness!

When in the hot infectious air O'er her sick babe she bows opprest,

Ah, hear her when the Traders tear The drooping infant from her breast!

Whelmd in the waters he shall rest! Hear thou the wretched mother's cries,

Avenging Power! awake! arise!

And often on his Saviour calld

With many a bitter groan, But in such anguish as may spring

From deepest guilt alone.

The miscrable man was ask'd

Why he was kneeling there,
And what had been the crime that caused

The anguish of his prayer. * Allading to the fatalities attending the British armament to and in the West Indies.

By the rank infected air
That taints those dungeons of despair,

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Toward the sound contending, when they hear

The frequent carcass from her guilty deck

Dash in the opening deep, no longer now

The guilt shall rest on England; but if yet

There be among her children, hard of heart


have had their course, since last And seard of conscience, men who set at nought Exulting Oxford view'd a spectacle

Her laws and God's own word, upon

themselves Like this day's pomp; and yet to those wlio throng d Their sin be visited !--the Red-cross tlag, These walls, which echoed then with Portland's praise, Redeem'd from stain so foul, no longer now What change hath intervened! The bloom of spring Covereth the abomination. Is fled from many a cheek, where roseate joy

This thy praise, And beauty bloom'd; the inexorable grave

O Grenville, and while ages roll away Hath claim'd its portion; and the band of youths, This shall be thy remembrance! Yea, when all Who then, collected here as in the port

For which the tyrant of these abject times From whence to launch on life's adventurous sea, Hatlı given luis honourable name on earth, Stood on the beach, ere this have found their lots His nights of innocent sleep, his hopes of heaven : Of good or evil. Thus the lapse of years,

When all his triumphis and his deeds of blood, Evolving all thides in its quiet course,

The fretful changes of his feverish pride, Hath wrought for them : and though those years have His midnight murders and perfidious plots,

Are but a tale of years so long gone by, Fearful vicissitudes, of wilder change

That they who read distrust the hideous truth, Than history yet had learnt, or old romance

Willing to let a charitable doubt In wildest mood imagined, yet these, 100,

Abate their liorror: Grenville, even then Portentous as they seem, not less have risen,

Thy memory will be freslı among mankind! Each of its natural cause the sure effect,

Afric with all her tongues will speak of thee, All righteously ordain'd. Lo! kingdoms wreck'd, With Wilberforce and Clarkson, le whom Ileaven, Thrones overturn'd, built up, then swept away

To be the apostle of this holy work Like fabrics in the summer clouds, dispersed

Raised up and strengtheo'd, and upheld through all By the same breath that heap'd them; rightful kings, lis arduous toil. To end the glorious task, Who, from a line of long-drawn ancestry

That blessed, that redeeming deed was thine: Held the transmitied sceptre, to the axe

Be it thy pride in life, thy thought in death, Bowing the anointed head; or dragg'd away

Thy praise beyond the tomb). The statesman's fame To eat the bread of bondage, or escaped

Will fade, the conqueror's laurel crown grow sere; Beneath the shadow of Britannia's shield,

Fame's loudest trump upon the ear of Time There only safe. Such fate have vicious courts, Leaves but a dying echo. They alone Statesmen corrupt, and fear-struck policy,

Are held in everlasting memory, Upon themselves drawn down; till Europe, bound Whose deeds partake of heaven. Long ages hence Jo iron chains, lies bleeding in the dust,

Nations upborn, in cities that shall rise Beneath the feet of upstart tyranny:

Along the palmy coast, will bless thy name; Only the hieroic Spaniard, he alone

And Senegal and secret Niger's shore, Yet unsubdued in these deyenerale days,

And Calabar, no longer started then With desperate virtue, such as in old timo

With sounds of murder, will, like Isis now, Hallow'd Saguntum aud Numantia's name,

Ring with the songs that tell of Greaville's praise. Stands up against the oppressor undismaydi

1810. So may the Almighty bless the noble race, And crown with happy end their holiest cause!

BOTANY-BAY ECLOGUES. Deem not these dread events the monstrous birth Of chance! And thou, O England, who dost ride

Where a sight sball shuddering Sorrow fod,
Serene amid the waters of the flood,

Sad as the ruins of the human mind,
Preserving, even like the Ark of old,
Amid the general wreck, thy purer faith,
Domestic loves, and ancient liberty,

Look to thyself, 0 England! for be sure,
Even to the measure of thine own desert,

Time, Morning. Soone, the Shore.
of retribution to thy lips

Once more to daily toil, once more to wear Shall soon or late be dealt!-a thought that well The livery of shame, once more to search Might fill the stoutest lieart of all thy sons

With miserable task this savage shore ! With awful apprehension! Therefore, they

O thou who mountest so triumphantly Who fear the Eternal's justice, bless thy name, In yonder Heaven, beginning thy career Grenville, because the wrongs of Africa

Of glory, O) thou blessed Sun! thy bcams Cry out no more to draw a curse from heaven

Fall on me with the same beniguant light On England;—for if still the trooping sharks

Here, at the furthest limits of the world. Track by the scent of death the accursed ship

And blasted as I am with infamy,
Freighted with human anguishı, in her wake

As when in better years poor ELINOR
Pursue the chase, crowd round her keel, and dart Gazed on ily glad uprise with eye undimm'd


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