J-Neagle

Faint-gazing on the burning orb of day,

F Kirk del

When Afric's injurd

son

expiring lay.

Page 97.

Pablished Fd: 1.1798. by C.Dilly Cadell & Davies, London; and R. Cruttwell, Bath?.

THE

AFRICAN.

FAINT-gazing on the burning orb of day,
When Africk's injur'd son expiring lay,
His forehead cold, his labouring bosom bare,
His dewy temples, and his sable hair,
His poor companions kiss'd, and cry'd aloud,
Rejoicing, whilst his head in peace he bow'd:-

"Now thy long, long task is done,
"Swiftly, brother, wilt thou run,
"Ere to-morrow's golden beam

"Glitter on thy parent stream,
"Swiftly the delights to share,

"The feast of joy which waits thee there: Swiftly, brother, wilt thou ride

"O'er the long and stormy tide,

"Fleeter than the hurricane,

“ Till thou view those scenes again, "Where thy father's hut was rear'd, "Where thy mother's voice was heard; "Where thy infant brothers play'd "Beneath the fragrant citron shade; "Where through green savannahs wide "Cooling rivers silent glide,

"Or the shrill sigarras sing

"Ceaseless to their murmuring;

"Where the dance, the festive song,

"Of many a friend divided long,

"Doom'd through stranger lands to roam, "Shall bid thy spirit welcome home!

"Fearless o'er the foaming tide "Again thy light canoe shall ride; "Fearless on th' embattled plain "Thou shalt lift thy lance again;

“Or, starting at the call of morn, "Wake the wild woods with thy horn; "Or, rushing down the mountain-slope, "O'ertake the nimble antelope;

"Or lead the dance, 'mid blissful bands,

"On cool Andracte's yellow sands;

"Or, in th' embow'ring orange grove,

"Tell to thy long-forsaken love

“The wounds, the agony severe,

"Thy patient spirit suffer'd here!

"Fear not now the tyrant's pow'r—

"Past is his insulting hour

"Mark no more the sullen trait

"On slavery's brow of scorn and hate; "Hear no more the long sigh borne 46 Murmuring on the gales of morn!

"Go in peace-yet we remain "Far distant, toiling on in pain; "Ere the great Sun fire the skies "To our work of woe we rise;

"And see each night, without a friend, "The world's great comforter descend!

"Tell our brethren, where ye meet, "Thus we toil with weary feet;

"Yet tell them, that Love's gen'rous flame, "In joy, in wretchedness, the same, "In distant worlds was ne'er forgot— "And tell them, that we murmur not— "Tell them, though the pang will start, "And drain the life-blood from the heart"Tell them, generous shame forbids

"The tear to stain our burning lids!

"Tell them, in weariness and want,

"For our native hills we pant,

"Where soon from shame and sorrow free,

"We hope in death to follow thee."