Where Europe exultingly drains

The life-blood from Africa's veins ;

Where man rules o'er man with a merciless rod, And spurns at his footstool the image of God!

The hour is approaching,-a terrible hour!
And Vengeance is bending her bow;
Already the clouds of the hurricane lour,
And the rock-rending whirlwinds blow:
Back rolls the huge OCEAN, Hell opens below:
The floods return headlong,-they sweep
The slave-cultured lands to the deep;

In a moment entomb'd in the horrible void,
By their Maker Himself in his anger destroy'd.

Shall this be the fate of the cane-planted isles, More lovely than clouds in the west,

When the sun o'er the ocean descending in smiles Sinks softly and sweetly to rest?

-NO!-Father of mercy! befriend the opprest;

At the voice of thy gospel of peace,

May the sorrows of Africa cease;

And the slave and his master devoutly unite
To walk in thy freedom, and dwell in thy light!*

As homeward my weary-wing'd Fancy extends
Her star-lighted course through the skies,
High over the mighty Atlantic ascends,

And turns upon Europe her eyes :

Ah me! what new prospects, new horrors arise !

I see the war-tempested flood

All foaming, and panting with blood;

The panic-struck OCEAN in agony roars,

Rebounds from the battle, and flies to his shores.

Alluding to the glorious success of the Moravian Missionaries among the Negroes in the West Indies.

For BRITANNIA is wielding the trident to-day,
Consuming her foes in her ire,

And hurling her thunder with absolute sway

From her wave-ruling chariots of fire:

-She triumphs ;-the winds and the waters con

spire

To spread her invincible name;

-The universe rings with her fame;

-But the cries of the fatherless mix with her praise, And the tears of the widow are shed on her bays!

O Britain! dear Britain! the land of my birth;

O Isle, most enchantingly fair!

Thou Pearl of the Ocean! Thou Gem of the

Earth!

my Mother! my Mother! beware;

For wealth is a phantom, and empire a snare:

O let not thy birth-right be sold

For reprobate glory and gold:

Thy distant dominions like wild graftings shoot,

They weigh down thy trunk,-they will tear up thy root:

The root of thine OAK, O my Country! that stands Rock-planted, and flourishing free;

Its branches are stretch'd o'er the uttermost lands,
And its shadow eclipses the sea:

The blood of our ancestors nourish'd the tree;
From their tombs, from their ashes it sprung;
Its boughs with their trophies are hung;
Their spirit dwells in it :-and hark! for it spoke ;
The voice of our fathers ascends from their Oak.

"Ye Britons, who dwell where we conquer'd of old, Who inherit our battle-field graves;

H

Though poor were your fathers,-gigantic and bold, We were not, we could not be, slaves;

But firm as our rocks, and as free as our waves,

The

spears of the Romans we broke,

We never stoop'd under their yoke ;

In the shipwreck of nations we stood up alone,

The world was great CESAR's-but Britain our

own.

For ages

and ages, with barbarous foes,

The Saxon, Norwegian, and Gaul,

We wrestled, were foil'd, were cast down, but we rose With new vigour, new life from each fall;

By all we were conquer'd :- -WE CONQUER'D THEM ALL!

-The cruel, the cannibal mind,

We softened, subdued, and refined;

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