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Oft have I rous'd, amid your caverns dim,
The howling tiger, and the lion grim!
In vain they gloried in their headlong force,
My javelin pierc'd them in their raging course.
But little did my boding mind bewray,

The victor and his hopes were doom'd a prey
To human brutes more fell, more cruel far than they.
Ah! what avails the conqueror's bloody meed,
The generous purpose, or the dauntless deed
This hapless breast expos'd on every plain,
And liberty preferr'd to life in vain?

Fall'n are my trophies, blasted is my fame,
Myself become a thing without a name,

The sport of haughty lords, and ev'n of slaves the shame.

'Curs'd be the winds, and curse the tides which

bore

These European robbers to our shore !

O be that hour involv'd in endless night,

When first their streamers met my wandering sight!
I call'd the warriors from the mountain's steep,
To meet these unknown terrors of the deep;
Rous'd by my voice, their generous bosoms glow,
They rush indignant and demand the foe,

And poise the darts of death, and twang the bended bow:

When lo! advancing o'er the sea-beat plain,

I mark'd the leader of a warlike train;

Unlike his features to our swarthy race;
And golden hair play'd round his ruddy face.
While with insidious smile and lifted hand,
He thus accosts our unsuspecting band:

'Ye valiant chiefs, whom love of glory leads
To martial combats, and heroic deeds;
No fierce invader your retreat explores,
No hostile banner waves along your shores.
From the dread tempests of the deep we fly,
Then lay, ye chiefs, these pointed terrors by :
And O, your hospitable cares extend,
So may ye never need the aid ye lend!
So may ye still repeat to every grove
The songs
of freedom, and the strains of love!"
Soft as the accents of the traitor flow,
We melt with pity, and unbend the bow;
With liberal hand our choicest gifts we bring,
And point the wanderers to the freshest spring.
Nine days we feasted on the Gambian strand,
And songs of friendship echoed o'er the land,*
When the tenth morn her rising lustre gave,
The chief approach'd me by the sounding wave:
"O, youth," he said, "what gifts can we bestow,
Or how requite the mighty debt we owe?
For lo! propitious to our vows, the gale
With milder omens fills the swelling sail.
To-morrow's sun shall see our ships explore
These deeps, and quit your hospitable shore.

*Which way soever I turned my eyes on this spot, I beheld a perfect image of pure nature, an agreeable solitude bounded on every side by charming landscapes; the rural situation of cottages. in the midst of trees; the ease and indolence of the Negroes, reclined under the shade of their spreading foliage; the simplicity of their dress and manners: the whole revived in my mind the idea of our first parents, and I seemed to contemplate the world in its primitive state. They are, generally speaking, very good-natured, sociable, and obliging.'-M. Adanson's Voyage to Senegal, &c.

Yet while we linger, let us still employ
The number'd hours in friendship and in joy:
Ascend our ships, their treasures are your own,
And taste the produce of a world unknown."

'He spoke; with fatal eagerness we burn,←
And quit the shores, undestin'd to return!
The smiling traitors with insidious care
The goblet proffer, and the feast prepare,
Till dark oblivion shades our closing eyes,
And all disarm'd each fainting warrior lies.
O wretches! to your future evils blind!
O morn for ever present to my mind!

When bursting from the treacherous bands of sleep,
Rous'd by the murmurs of the dashing deep,

I woke to bondage and ignoble pains,
And all the horrors of a life in chains.*

Ye Gods of Afric! in that dreadful hour
Where were your thunders and avenging pow'r?
Did not my pray'rs, my groans, my tears invoke
Your slumbering justice to direct the stroke?

*As we passed along the coast we very often lay before a town and fired a gun for the natives to come off, but no soul came near us At length we learned by some ships that were trading down the coast, that the natives came seldom on board an English ship, for fear of being detained or carried off; yet at last some ventured on board; but if these chanced to spy any arms, they would all immediately take to their canoes and make the best of their way home -Smith's Voyage to Guinea.

It is well known that many of the European nations have, very unjustly and inhumanly, without any provocation, stolen away, from time to time, abundance of the people, not only on this coast, but almost every where in Guinea, who have come on board their ship in a harmless and confiding manner; these they have in great numbers carried away, and sold in the plantations.-J. Barber's Description of Guinea.

No Power descended to assist the brave,
No lightnings flash'd, and I became a slave.
From lord to lord my wretched carcass sold,
In Christian traffic, for their sordid gold:

Fate's blackest clouds were gather'd o'er my head;
And, bursting now, they mix me with the dead.
'Yet when my fortune cast my lot with thine,
And bade beneath one roof our labours join,
Surpris'd I felt the tumults of my breast
Lull'd by thy beauties to unwonted rest.
Delusive hopes my changing soul inflame,
And gentle transports agitate my frame.
What though obscure thy birth, superior grace
Shone in the glowing features of thy face.
Ne'er had my youth such winning softness seen,
Where Afric's sable beauties dance the green,
When some sweet maid receives her lover's vow,
And binds the offer'd chaplet to her brow.
While on thy languid eyes I fondly gaze,
And trembling meet the lustre of their rays,
Thou, gentle virgin, thou didst not despise
The humble homage of a captive's sighs.
By Heav'n abandon'd, and by man betray'd,
Each hope resign'd of comfort or of aid,
Thy generous love could every sorrow end,
In thee I found a mistress and a friend;
Still as I told the story of my woes,

With heaving sighs thy lovely bosom rose;
The trickling drops of liquid crystal stole

Down thy fair cheek, and mark'd thy pitying soul:

02

Dear drops! upon my bleeding heart, like balm,
They fell, and soon my tortur'd mind grew calm;
Then my lov'd country, parents, friends forgot;
Heav'n I absolv'd, nor murmur'd at my lot;
Thy sacred smiles could every pang remove,
And liberty became less dear than love.

'And I have lov'd thee with as pure a fire,
As man e'er felt, or woman could inspire:
No pangs like these my pallid tyrants know,
Not such their transports, and not such their wo.
Their softer frames a feeble soul conceal,
A soul unus'd to pity or to feel:

Damp'd by base lucre, and repell'd by fear,
Each nobler passion faintly blazes here.
Not such the mortals burning Afric breeds,
Mother of virtues, and heroic deeds;
Descended from yon radiant orb, they claim
Sublimer courage, and a fiercer flame.
Nature has there, unchill'd by art, impress'd
Her awful majesty on every breast.
Where'er she leads, impatient of control,
The dauntless Negro rushes to the goal;
Firm in his love, resistless in his hate,
His arm is conquest, and his frown is fate.

"What fond affection in my bosom reigns!
What soft emotions mingle with my pains!
Still as thy form before my mind appears,
My haggard eyes are bath'd in gushing tears;
Thy lov'd idea rushes to my heart,
And stern despair suspends the lifted dart

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