If while in the Slave Ship, with many a groan, While hundreds around me, reply'd to my moan, If then, thou but deign'dst, with a pitying eye, Thy poor Ŏ thy mercy apply Afric's sorrows to dry, And bid the poor Negro be free! If here, as I faint in the vertical sun, And the scourge goads me on to my toil,No hope faintly soothing, when labour is done, Of one joy my lorn heart to beguile ; If thou view'st me, Great Spirit! as one thou hast made, And my fate as dependant on thee; O impart thou thy aid, That the scourge may be stay'd, And the Black Man, at last, may be free. Thus pray'd the poor Negro; with many a groan, Heaven bent down its ear, and the fiat is known, -- Yes hear it, ye Isles of the Westering deep! No traffic of blood Shall pollute the green flood, And freedom, for Afric shall reign. ΤΟ OH! smile not, Lady, smile not so, Η Disguise the accents of thy tongue; That smile, that voice, but aid my woe, And break a heart most deeply wrung! For thus, in days for ever flown, That magic smile, that syren voice, Still on that soft enchanting tone, And Fancy's dreams might aid the spell! Alas! in vain, too late, I see, What cruel chains this heart enthrall: Those smiles exist, but not for me; Oh! not for me those accents fall. Then smile not, Lady! smile not so, B. B. W. THE DYING NEGRO, A POEM. BY THE LATE THOMAS DAY AND JOHN BICKNELL ADVERTISEMENT. The following Poem was occasioned by a fact which had recently happened at the time of its first publication, in 1773. A negro, belonging to the Captain of a West Indiaman, having agreed to marry a white woman, his fellow-servant, in order to effect his purpose, had left his master's house, and procured himself to be baptized; but being detected and taken, he was sent on board the Captain's vessel, then lying in the river; where, finding no chance of escaping, and preferring death to another voyage to America, he took an opportunity of stabbing himself. As soon as his determination is fixed, he is supposed to write this epistle to his intended wife. ARM'D with thy sad last gift-the power to die, The lines marked by inverted commas were written by Mr. Day. Ere yet this hand a life of sorrow close, And end by one determin'd stroke my woes, "Is there a fond regret, which moves my mind "To pause, and cast a lingering look behind? -O my lov'd bride!-for I have call'd thee mine, Dearer than life, whom I with life resign, "For thee even here this faithful heart shall glow, "A pang shall rend me, and a tear shall flow. How shall I soothe thy grief, since fate denies Thy pious duties to my closing eyes? "I cannot clasp thee in a last embrace, "Nor gaze in silent anguish on thy face; "I cannot raise these fetter'd arms for thee, "To ask that mercy heaven denies to me; Yet let thy tender breast my sorrows share, Bleed for my wounds, and feel my deep despair. Yet let thy tears bedew a wretch's grave, Whom Fate forbade thy tenderness to save. Receive these sighs, to thee my soul I breathe, Fond love in dying groans is all I can bequeathe. Why did I, slave, beyond my lot aspire? Why didst thou fan the inauspicious fire? For thee I bade my drooping soul revive; For thee alone I could have borne to live; And love, I said, shall make me large amends, Pursue thee too with unrelenting hate, And better in th' untimely grave to rot, Than, dragg'd once more beyond the western main, |