EPISTLE TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq. ON THE REJECTION OF THE BILL FOR ABOLISHING THE SLAVE TRADE, 1791. CEASE, Wilberforce, to urge thy generous aim! Has rattled in her sight the Negro's chain; Beneath the bloody scourge laid bare the man, And flashed conviction on her shrinking soul. The Muse too, soon awaked, with ready tongue At Mercy's shrine applausive pæans rung ; And Freedom's eager sons in vain foretold A new Astrean reign, an age of gold: She knows and she persists-Still Afric bleeds, Unchecked, the human traffic still proceeds; And on her hardened forehead seals the crime. In vain, to thy white standard gathering round, The artful gloss, that moral sense confounds, The' acknowledged thirst of gain that honour wounds : Bane of ingenuous minds !—the' unfeeling sneer, Which sudden turns to stone the falling tear: They search assiduous, with inverted skill, For forms of wrong, and precedents of ill; And swell the' account of vengeance yet to come; Shall man, proud worm, contemn his fellow-man! And injured Afric, by herself redresst, Darts her own serpents at her tyrant's breast. Each vice, to minds depraved by bondage known, With sure contagion fastens on his own; In sickly languors melts his nerveless frame, And blows to rage impetuous Passion's flame : Fermenting swift, the fiery venom gains The milky innocence of infant veins ; There swells the stubborn will, damps learning's fire, The whirlwind wakes of uncontrouled desire, Sears the young heart to images of woe, And blasts the buds of Virtue as they blow. Lo! where reclined, pale Beauty courts the breeze, Diffused on sofas of voluptuous ease; With anxious awe her menial train around Catch her faint whispers of half-uttered sound; See her, in monstrous fellowship, unite At once the Scythian and the Sybarite! Which frugal nature purposed to divide ; Of body delicate, infirm of mind, With languid tones imperious mandates urge; With arm recumbent wield the household scourge; And with unruffled mien, and placid sounds, Nor, in their palmy walks and spicy groves, No milk-maid's song, or hum of village talk, Where the mixed sounds of cheerful labour rise; But shrieks and yells disturb the balmy air, Nor less from the gay East, on essenced wings, Breathing unnamed perfumes, Contagion springs; |