Such hypocritic foes their toils shall know,
And ev'ry hand shall work its share of woe.

How av'rice fires their minds, ye heav'n-born train ;

Behold our sacred gospel preach'd in vain;
Behold us disobey'd; what dire alarms

Inflame their souls to slaughter, blood, and arms.
Their dreadful end will wing its fatal way,
Nor need their rage anticipate the day:
Let him who tempts me dread the dire abode,
And know th' Almighty is a jealous God.
Still they may charge on us their own offence,
And call their woes the crimes of providence;
But they themselves their miseries create,
They perish by their folly, not their fate."
Then, by himself, the gracious monarch swore
To save th' oppressed, and relieve the poor;
To bless the orphan, punish lawless lust,
And lay each haughty tyrant in the dust.
Destroy th' oppressor; aid the righteous cause;
Avenge the breach of heav'n's eternal laws.
Then, lo, he gave the great tremendous nod,
With his bright head, the sanction of the God.
Thro' heav'n, thro' earth, the strong concussion

rolls,

The golden planets trembled to the poles; That moment thunders rattle, lightnings fly, Black clouds and double darkness veil the sky;

The rough rocks roar, tumultuous boil the waves, The tides come roaring through the rumbling

caves:

The wild winds whistle, and the storms arise,
Lash the salt surge, and bluster in the skies:
The wave behind mounts on the wave before,
And drives the mountain billows to the shore.
While the unhappy exiles mournful stand,
Boys, babes, and dames, a miserable band;
The wretched train of shrieking mothers bound,
Behold their captive children trembling round:
They strive to ease their children's grief again,
But still repeat the moving theme in vain.
Scarce can the whip release each grasping hand;
Like sculptur'd monumental grief they stand.
Compassion then touch'd my tyrannic soul;
And down my cheek a tear that moment stole.
Then, nor till then, I pitied! though their foe,
Struck with the sight of such unequall'd woe,
Swift, and more swift, unbidden sorrows rise;
And, in large drops, ran trickling from my eyes.
Now parted by the whip, with doleful sound,
The children speak their agonies profound.
Dissolv'd in tears, they round their parents hung;
And their young arms in early sorrows wrung.
Pierc'd with such grief, the bleeding youths, in
vain,

Fly back, for refuge, to their sires again;

Complain with moving tears, and moving cries,
And beg for aid with eloquence of eyes.
Lost, to the soft endearing ties of life,

The social names of daughter, parent, wife,

The frantic mother hears the well-known sound

Can no redress, she cries to heaven, be found?
Can mortals give or feel a deeper wound?
Ye savage Christians! now your rage is spent;
Your malice can no greater pains invent.
Parental tenderness, and kindred blood!
Your force till now I little undersood.
Oh that the base tyrannic Christian band,
Had never touch'd my dear paternal land,
O that I were some monster of the wood;
Or bird by land, or fish that swims the flood!
Unthoughtful then my sorrows I could bear
Nor sin, nor groan, nor weep, nor sigh, nor fear.
While thus she speaks, she views the golden light,
And purple skies; but sickens at the sight.
Her grief approximating to despair;
Thrice from her head she tore the sable hair;
Thrice beat her breast with unexampled fear;
Then looking up with streaming eyes, she cries,
Thus sobbing, to the Monarch of the skies.
Immortal Sire, good, gracious, and divine,
In might supreme, in majesty sublime;
Shall Christians, cruel Christians, still prevail?
And shall thy promise to thy creatures fail?

And shall they, shall they still increase our woe?
And dye our lands with purple as they go?
Rise in thy wrath, almighty Maker, rise;
Behold our grievous wrongs with gracious eyes.
Oh, save my valiant friends, the bold and brave,
Their wives abus'd, their bleeding infants save.
Oh! see them force the injur'd maid away;
With sons, sires, wives, an undistinguish'd prey.
While wives and daughters serve promiscuous
lust,

Their sires and husbands bite the bloody dust. To count our wrongs demands ten thousand tongues;

An angel's voice, and adamantine lungs.

While thus she prays, weeps, groans, complains in vain,

The ruffians whip her from the place again.
Thus the sweet nightingale scared from her nest,
By cruel boys, with grief and care opprest;
She hovers round and round the much lov❜d place,
And strives, but strives in vain to save her race.
With melancholy notes she fills the plains,
And with melodious harmony complains;
And tells the cruel, listless boys her pains.
They heave round stones, that labour up the skies,
To kill the mother as the mother flies.

Lo, tyrants thus administer relief;

Add wrong to wrong, and wretchedness to grief.

And oft, alas! with hypocritic air,
Condemn the crimes in which they deeply share.
Hear this, ye tyrants, distant nations, hear,
And learn the judgments of high heav'n to fear.
Yes, ages yet unborn hereby shall see,

Their predecessors' guilt and tyranny.

These Christians thirst for gold; while fierce in

arms,

Their cruel breasts no tender pity warms.

And if the heathens should one virtuous find,
Name the slave-traders; they will curse the kind.
Deceitful gold! how high will Christians rise
In latent guilt, to gain the glittering prize?
Hence sacred faith, and public trust are sold,
And villains barter Adam's sons for gold.
Hence tyrants rule; the scorn of honest fame;
And Virtue's chang'd to monumental shame.
Shall the oppressed race of human kind,
From heav'n above, nor earth, no justice find?
Can bloody carnage please Jehovah's sight?
Or flaming war reflect a grateful light?
No mortal woe impartial heav'n relieves,
Peace, joy, life, love, relenting mercy gives.
Impell'd by love, he promis'd to the poor,

To hear their pray'rs, nor drive from mercy's door.

Compel'd by truth he will his word fulfil,
Save the oppress'd, and do is sovereign will.