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SLAVERY.
3
To tread on grave Authority and Pow'r,
And ſhake the work of ages in an hour:30
Convuls'd her voice, and peſtilent her breath,
She raves of mercy, while ſhe deals out death:
Each blaſt is fate; ſhe darts from either hand
Red conflagration o'er th' aſtonisſh'd land;
Clamouring for peace, ſhe rends the air with noiſe,35
And to reform a part, the whole destroys.
O, plaintive Southerne![1] whose impaſſion'd ſtrain
So oft has wak'd my languid Muse in vain!
Now, when congenial themes her cares engage,
She burns to emulate thy glowing page;40
Her failing efforts mock her fond deſires,
She ſhares thy feelings, not partakes thy fires.
Strange pow'r of ſong! the ſtrain that warms the heart
Seems the ſame inſpiration to impart;
Touch'd
- ↑ Author of the Tragedy of Oronoko.
