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What favour then not yet possess'd,
Can I for thee require,

In wedded love already blest,

To thy whole heart's desire?

None here is happy but in part:
Full bliss is bliss divine;

There dwells some wish in every heart,
And, doubtless, one in thine.

That wish, on some fair future day,
Which Fate shall brightly gild,
('Tis blameless, be it what it may,)
I wish it all fulfill'd.

ODE TO APOLLO.

ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.

Some

["Insurpassably beautiful in conception," says Montgomery, "and in itself an answer to the prayer which it contains." of the allusions have perhaps a quaintness which takes from their ease.]

PATRON of all those luckless brains,

That, to the wrong side leaning,
Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning:

Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,
In constant exhalations,

Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stolen away
A poet's drop of ink?

Upborne into the viewless air

It floats a vapour now,

Impell'd through regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow.

Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flies,
Combined with millions more,
To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.

Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot
Of all that ever pass'd my pen,
So soon to be forgot!

Phoebus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,

Give wit, that what is left may shine
With equal grace below.

PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.

[This piece, and the two following on the same subject, were composed in 1788, with the intention of being printed and dispersed as ballads; they were not, however, published till they appeared in the first collected edition of the Author's poems.]

Video meliora proboque
Deteriora sequor.

I OWN I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves, And fear those who buy them and sell them are knaves;

What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and

groans,

Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see?

What! give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea!

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 story so pat, you may think it is coin'd
On purpose to answer you out of my mint;
But I can assure you I saw it in print.

A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test;
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And ask'd him to go and assist in the job.

He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answered "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, But apples we want, and apples we'll have ;

If

you will 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 :

Poor man! what a pity to injure him so!

Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could,
But staying behind will do him no good.,

"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 silenced, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize ;
He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan :
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.

FORCED from my home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn ;
To increase a stranger's treasures,
O'er the raging billows bornę.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though theirs they have enroll❜d me,
Minds are never to be sold.

Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit Nature's claim;

Skins may differ, but affection

Dwells in white and black the same.

Why did all-creating Nature

Make the plant for which we toil? Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards; Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords.

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there One who reigns on high?
Has He bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from His throne, the sky?
Ask Him, if your knotted scourges,

Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Are the means, which duty urges
Agents of His will to use?

Hark! He answers Wild tornados,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks ;

Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which He speaks.
He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's sons should undergo,
Fix'd their tyrants' habitations
Where his whirlwinds answer

By our blood in Afric wasted,

No.

Ere our necks received the chain;
By the miseries we have tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main ;
By our sufferings, since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
All sustain'd by patience, taught us
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 powers,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours!

THE MORNING DREAM.

'Twas in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dream'd what I cannot but sing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.

I dream'd that on ocean afloat,

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 impress'd me with awe, Ne'er taught me by woman before.

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