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SLAVERY.
I ſee, by more than Fancy's mirror ſhewn,
The burning village, and the blazing town:
See the dire victim torn from ſocial life,
The ſhrieking babe, the agonizing wife! 100
She, wretch forlorn! is dragg'd by hoſtile hands,
To diſtant tyrants sold, in diſtant lands!
Tranſmitted miſeries, and ſucceſſive chains,
The ſole ſad heritage her child obtains!
Ev'n this laſt wretched boon their foes deny, 105
To weep together, or together die.
By felon hands, by one relentleſs ſtroke,
See the fond links of feeling Nature broke!
The fibres twiſting round a parent's heart,
Torn from their graſp, and bleeding as they part. 110
Hold, murderers, hold! nor aggravate diſtreſs;
Reſpect the paſſions you yourſelves poſſeſs;
Ev'n
