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, By our blood in Afric wasted, Deem our nation brutes no longer, PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. I own I am shocked at the purchase of slaves, I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, What, give up our desserts, 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, Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind A youngster at school more sedate than the rest, 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 share, If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.' They spoke, and Tom pondered- I see they will go : Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could, If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang till they dropped 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, but pitied the man. THE MORNING DREAM. 'Twas in the glad season of spring, Far hence to the westward I sailed, And the fresh-blowing breeze never failed. T 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, Thus swiftly dividing the flood, To a slave-cultured island we came, But soon as approaching the land And the moment the monster expired, Awaking, how could I but muse At what such a dream should betide? But soon my ear caught the glad news, Which served my weak thought for a guide→ That Britannia, renowned o'er the waves For the hatred she ever has shown To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own. THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long you admire my lamp, quoth he, |