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By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks receiv'd the chain; By the mis’ries that we tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main; By our suff'rings, since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
Only by a broken heart;
Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, and stronger
Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted pow'rs, Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours!
PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.
Video meliora proboque,
I own I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves, And fear those, who buy them and sell them, are knaves;
[groans, What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.
I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
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, Much more in behalf of your wish might be said ; But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks, Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks ?
Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind
A youngster at school more sedate than the rest,
Hewas shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd“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,
go with us, you shall have a share, If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear."
They spoke, and Tom ponder'd—“ I see they will go :
If the matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang till they dropp'd 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 silenc'd, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to seize; He blam'd and protested, but join'd in the plan : He shar'd in the plunder, but pitied the man.
Twas in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.
Far hence to the westward I sail'd, While the billows high-lifted the boat,
And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd.
In the steerage a woman I saw,
Such at least was the form that she wore, Whose beauty impressid 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."