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IX.

"Ye parricides, who broke the golden cords

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"Of filial piety-maternal love;

"Ye perjur'd fenators-ye venal lords,

"Now curfe your damned deeds-for vengeance

"dwells with Jove!

"America, no longer thou

Shalt lift thy plaintive voice in vain ;
"Nor Britain's fons to flav'ry bow,
"Nor forge for others necks the chain!
""Tis Justice speaks!" above controul,
Her thunders fmite the guilty foul.
See murder'd Sydney grimly fmile,
And virtuous Ruffel blefs her glorious toil!
Oh fleep, ye facred fhades! in endless reft;
The fign of Mercy, beaming from the west,

Kind Heav'n has giv'n ;-for o'er the patriot crowd
Bright Conqueft foars aloft--and claps her wings aloud.

STANZAS

STANZAS

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF ALICO, AN AFRI

CAN SLAVE, CONDEMNED FOR REBELLION IN

JAMAICA, 1765.

[ He is fupposed to address his Wife at the place of Execution.].

BY THE SAME.

I

'TIS paft:-Ah! calm thy cares to reft!'

Firm and unmov'd am I :-
In Freedom's caufe I bar'd my breast,-
In Freedom's cause I die.

H.

Ah stop! thou do'ft me fatal wrong

Nature will yet rebel:

For I have lov'd thee very long,

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To native skies and peaceful bow'15,

I foon fhall wing my way;

Where joy fhall lead the circling hours,

Unless too long thy stay.

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IV.

Oh speed, fair fun! thy courfe divine;
My Abala remove;—

There thy bright beams fhall ever fhine,
And I for ever love!

V.

On those bleft fhores-a Slave no more!
In peaceful eafe I'll stray;

Or roufe to chace the mountain boar,
As unconfin'd as day!

VI.

No Chriftian tyrant there is known
To mark his steps with blood,
Nor fable Mis'ry's piercing moan
Refounds thro' ev'ry wood.

VII.

Yet have I heard the melting tongue,
Have seen the falling tear;

Known the good heart by pity wrung,

Ah! that fuch hearts are rare !

VIII. Now,

VIII.

Now, Chriftian, glut thy ravish'd eyes
-I reach the joyful hour;
Now bid the fcorching flames arise,

And these poor limbs devour :

IX.

But know, pale Tyrant, 'tis not thine
Eternal war to wage;

The death thou giv't shall but combine
To mock thy baffled rage.

X.

O Death, how welcome to th' opprest!
Thy kind embrace I crave :
Thou bring'ft to Mis'ry's bofom reft,
And Freedom to the Slave.

ON READING

BOLINGBROKE'S REFLECTIONS

THE CHARACTER OF POPE.

BY THE SAME.

SOFT be thy fleep, ill-fated bard!
Thy virtue is thy fole reward.

Alas! the lov'd, fweet voice of Fame
Is Folly ;-Friendship but a name !

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VI.

Hark! thro' America's indignant fhore,

What groans for vengeance rend th' affrighted skies!
Foul impious War hath broken Nature's ties ;
And Britain, terror of the world no more,
Turns on herself, and drinks her children's gore!
Oh! quickly drop the murd'rous fword,

What horrors rife around?

Can't thou, ill-fated realm, afford

With thine own blood to drench the ground.

The vet'ran, yet untaught to yield,
Reluctant views the death-fraught field,
Conscious of guilt would fain retreat,
And dreads ev'n vict'ry as defeat;
In vain: still o'er Ontario's flood,
With ghaftly smile, and blafting eyes,
Stern Alva's guilty fpirit flies,

And fnuffs the fcented air, and rages ftill for blood!

VII.

Hear how her fons Iberia tells.

Exulting as the tempeft fwells;

And faithlefs Gallia, with prophetic eye,
Beholds thy golden ftreams of Commerce dry,
Or marks them for her own. "O great event,"
She cries," Thy fhame and punishment,

"Rafh

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