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The hand, that slew till it could slay no more,
Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore.
Their prince, as justly seated on his throne
As vain imperial Philip on his own,
Trick'd out of all his royalty by art,
That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart,
Died by the sentence of a shaven priest,
For scorning what they taught him to detest.
How dark the veil, that intercepts the blaze
Of Heav'n's mysterious purposes and ways;
God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof;
And at this hour the conqu’ror feels the proof:
The wreath he won drew down an instant curse,
The fretting plague is in the publick purse,
The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state,
Starvd by that indolence their mines create.
Oh could their ancient Incas rise again,
How would they take up Israel's taunting strain ?
Art thou too fall’n, Iberia ? Do we see
The robber and the murd'rer weak as we?
Thou, that hast wasted Earth, and dard despise
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies,
Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid
Low in the pits thine avarice has made.
We come with joy from our eternal rest,
To see th' oppressor in his turn oppress’d.
Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand
Rolld over all our desolated land,
Shook principalities and kingdoms down,
And made the mountains tremble at his frown ?
The sword shall light upon thy boasted pow'rs,
And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours.
'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils,
And Vengeance executes what Justice wills:
Again-the band of commerce was design'd
T'associate all the branches of mankind;
And if a boundless plenty be the robe,
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe.
Wise to promote whatever end he means,
God opens fruitful nature's various scenes :
Each climate needs what other climes produce,
And offers something to the gen’ral use;
No land but listens to the common call,
And in return receives supply from all.
This genial intercourse, and mutual aid,
Cheers what were else a universal shade,
Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den,
And softens human rock-work into men.
Ingenious Art, with her expressive face,
Steps forth to fashion and refine the race ;
Not only fills Necessity's demand,
But overcharges her capacious hand :
Capricious Taste itself can crave no more,
T'han she supplies from her abounding store ;
She strikes out all that luxury can ask,
And gains new vigour at her endless task.
Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire,
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre;
From her the canvass borrows light and shade,
And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade.
She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys,
Gives difficulty all the grace of ease,
And pours a torrent of sweet notes around,
Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound.
These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most Where commerce has enrich'd the busy coast; He catches all improvements in his flight, Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight, Imports what others have invented well, And stirs his own to match them, or excel 'Tis thus reciprocating, each with each, Alternately the nations learn and teach; While Providence enjoins to ev'ry soul A union with the vast terraqueous whole.
Heav'n speed the canvass, gallantly unfurl? To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the pole the produce of the sun, And knit th' unsocial climates into one. Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save, To succonr wasted regions, and replace The smile of Opulerce in Sorrow's face.Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene, Charg'd with a freight transcending in its worth The gems of India, Nature's rarest birth, That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, A herald of God's love to pagan lands. But ah! what wish can prosper, or what pray'r, For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, Who drive a loathsome traffick, guage, and span, And buy the muscles and the bones of man! The tender ties of father, husband, friend, All bonds of nature in that moment end ; And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, A stroke as fatal as the sithe of Death
The sable warriour, frantiek with regret
Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Loses in tears the far-receding shore,
But not the thought, that they must meet no more;
Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow,
What has he left that he can ýet forego?
Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign’d,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his gen’rous nature; and, to suit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
O most degrading of all ills, that wait
On many a mourner in his best estate !
All other sorrows Virtue may endure,
And find submission more than half a cure;
Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd
T'improve the fortitude that bears the load,
To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase,
The path of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace;
But slav'ry Virtue dreads it as her grave :
Patience itself is meanness in a slave;
Or if the will and sov’reignty of God
Did suffer it a while, and kiss the rod,
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And snap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
That has a heart and life in it, Be free;
The beasts are eharter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse :
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack;
And, conscious of an unencumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein;
Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane ;
Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs;
Nor stops till, overleaping all delays,
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze.
Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian name,
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame;
Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead
Expedience as a warrant for the deed ?
So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold,
To quit the forest and invade the fold :
So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide,
Dagger in hand, steals close to your bed-side;
Not he, but his emergence foro'd the door,
He found it inconvenient to be poor.
Has God then given its sweetness to the cane,
Unless his laws be trampled on-in vain ?
Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist,
Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd ?
Impudent blasphemy! So Folly pleads,
And, Av'rice being judge, with ease succeeds.
But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, That man make man his prey, because he must; Still there is room for pity to abate, And soothe the sorrows of so sad a state. A Briton knows, or if he knows it not, The Scripture plac'd within his reach, he ought, That souls have no discriminating hue, Alike important in their Maker's view; That none are free from blemish since the fall, And Love divine has paid one price for all. The wretch, that works and weeps without relief, Has one that notices his silent grief.