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Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flow'r, inscrib’d on ev'ry tree :
In ev'ry leaf that trembles to the breeze,
I hear the voice of God among the trees.
With thee in shady solitude I walk;
With thee in busy crowded cities talk;
In ev'ry creature own thy forming pow'r;
In each event thy providence adore.
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear control
Thus shall I reft, unmov'd by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms;
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in thee.
Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes before my swimming eye;
When, trembling, on the doubtful edge of fate
I stand, and stretch my view to either state ;
Teach me to quit this transitory scene
With decent triumph and a look serene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And, having liv’d to thee, in thee to die.
THEN avarice enslaves the mind,
Man turns a favage to his kind,
And blood and rapine mark his way:
Alas! for this poor fimple toy,
I sold a blooming NEGRO BOY.
His father's hope, his mother's pride ;
Though black, yet comely to their view;
I tore him helpless from their side,
And gave him to a ruffian crew :
To fiends that AFRIC's coasts annoy,
I sold the blooming NEGRO BOY.
From country, friends, and parents torn,
His er limbs in chains copfind,
I saw him o'er the billows borne,
And mark'd his agony of mind:.
But still to gain this simple toy,
gave away the NEGRO BOY.
In ifles that deck the western wave,
I doom'd the hopeless youth to dwell,
A poor, forlorn, insulted slave,
A beast that Christians buy and sell:
Who in their cruel tasks employ
The much-enduring NEGRO BOY.
His wretched parents long shall mourn;
Shall long explore the distant main,
In hopes to see the youth return;
But all their hopes and sighs are vain :
They never shall the fight enjoy
Of their lamented NEGRO BOY.
Beneath a tyrant's harsh command,
He wears away his youthful prime,
Far-distant from his native land,
A stranger in a foreign clime:
No pleasing thoughts his mind employ,
A poor, dejected NEGRO BOY.
But He who walks upon the wind,
Whose voice in thunder's heard on high;
Who doth the raging tempeft bind,
Or wing the lightning through the sky,
In his own time will soon destroy
Th’ oppressors of the NEGRO BOY.
THEN the busy toil of day is done,
When beneath the mountain sets the
sun, Soft and fair,
Through vernal air,
The little birds sing cheerily;
Then I rove
To meet my love;
My bounding heart beats merrily.
When the yellow moon-beams light the vale,
When the bird of sorrow tells her tale;
Sweet and slow,
The warbled woe
Sounds through the woodlands drearily.
Then breathe I
The tender figh,
Responsive to her melody,
The thought was happy, pertinent, and true;
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue.
I (can you pardon my presumption?) I-
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try.
Various the papers, various wants produce,
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use:
Men are as various; and, if right I scan,
Each sort of paper represents some man.
Pray note the Fop-half powder and half lace,
Nice as a bandbox were his dwelling place;
He's the Gilt Paper, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire.
MeCHANICS, SERVANTS, FARMERS, and so forth,
Are Copy Paper of inferior worth ;
Less prizd, more useful, for your desk decreed,
Free to all
prompt at every need. The wretch whom Av’RICE bids to pinch and spare, Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, Is Coarse Brown Paper, such as pedlars choose To wrap up wares which better men will use. Take next the Miser's contrast, who destroys Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys. Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout, He's a true Sinking Paper, paft all doubt. The retail Politician's anxious thought Deems this fide always right, and that stark nought; He foams with censure, with applause he ravesA dupe to rumours, and a tool of knaves; He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim, While such a thing as Foolscap has a name. The hasty GentLEMAN, whose blood runs high, Who picks a quarrel, if you step awry; Who can't a jest, a hint, a look endure; What is he ? 'Why, Touch-paper, to be sure. What are our Poets, take them as they fall, Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all ? Them and their works, in the same class you'll find, They are the mere Waste Paper of mankind.
Thy people's hearts, by pow'r divine,
To justice, gentleness, and love."
The suff'rer ceas’d, death chill'd his veins;
His mangled limbs grew fiiff and cold;
Yet whips por racks infliet the pains
Men feel who barter Man for Gold.
ON A FRIEND REFUSING TO SIGN
The Petition concerning the Slave Trade,
Because it was thought a Party Matter.
PIRIT of party! baneful Demon, cease-
Let partial prejudice a while be mute,
That soft humanity may gain her suit:
She sues—Oh, do not let her sue in vain-
She fues for mortals, languishing in pain :
Ah! let not then our secret feuds
This heav'nly cause, this merciful intent.
What if, my friend, we sometimes disagree
About the ins, and outs, of Ministry,
Or partial, each in critic judgment fit,
On Fox or Sheridan, on Burke or Pitt;
Yet in this one great point we all agree-
There's no excufe for wanton cruelty.
Then if our mutual endeavours join'd
Can ease this wretched part of human kind,
Let's freely do the little that we can,
To stop a traffic—the disgrace of Man:
A blessing then shall their endeavours wait,
Who strive a Brother's pain to mitigate.