Then raising her voice to a strain 2 The sweetest that ear ever heard,''''' She sung of the slave's broken chain! Some clouds which had over us hung Fled, chas'd by her melody clear, movi And methought while she Liberty sung, 'Twas Liberty only to hear. Thus swiftly dividing the flood, To a slave-cultur'd island we came, Where a Demon, her enemy, stood&bul Oppression his terrible name. '1 107 In his hand, as the sign of his sway, surel A scourge hung with lashes he bore, And stood looking out for his prey From Africa's sorrowful shore. But soon as approaching the land That goddess-like woman he view'd, The scourge he let fall from his hand, With blood of his subjects imbrued. I saw him both sicken and die, And the moment the monster expir'd Heard shouts that ascended the sky From thousands with rapture inspir'd. Awaking, how could I but muse At what such a dream should betide? But soon my ear caught the glad news Which serv'd my weak thought for a guideThat Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves, i VERSES PRINTED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE TOWN OF NORTHAMPTON, Dec. 21, 1787. Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run All these, life's rambling journey done, Was man (frail always) made more frail Than in foregoing years? Did famine, or did plague prevail, That so much death appears? No; these were vigorous as their sires, Nor plague nor famine came; This annual tribute Death requires, And never waves his claim. Like crowded forest-trees we stand, The axe will smite at God's command, Green as the bay-tree, ever green, With its new foliage on, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen; I pass'd-and they were gone. Read, ye that run, the awful truth A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age. II. 2 E No present health can health insure For yet an hour to come; No med'cine, though it often cure, Can always balk the tomb. And oh! that (humble as my lot, These truths, though known, too much forgot, So prays your Clerk, with all his heart; And, ere he quits the pen, Begs you for once to take his part, And answer all-Amen! *John Cox, Parish Clerk of Northampton. |