  High, where primevial forests shade the land, From the green turf, rear'd by no mortal hand, A sacred station lifts its fragrant seat O'er the loud stream, that murmurs at its feet, Of Niger, rushing thro' the fertile plains, Swell'd by the cataracts of tropic rains, Long 'ere surcharg'd his turgid flood divides, To burst on ocean in three thund'ring tides. Thither high-seated in an iv'ry car, Glittering with gold in many a shining star, By alligators drawn in dread array, Afric's sad Genius bends her awful way. The spicy breezes throw their sweets around; With pealing strains the high-arch'd woods resound: The glowing nymphs surround the radiant pow'r, And duteous lead her to the regal bow'r. High, over head the airy cocoa bends, The victor palm a virid shade extends, Surrounding limes their freshness throw between And swarthy plantains gild the glowing scene. Amidst the splendours, that around her shone, Th' indignant Pow'r ascends the sylvan throne; Th' Hesperian sun, from the descent of day, Beams on her front serene a languid ray. About her sandal'd feet—a sapient band, The river-gods, in awful council stand: Immingled gold amidst their oziers gleams, Each pond'rous urn with studded lustre beams. Presiding Dryads quit their subject woods; Directing Naiads leave their silver floods, Every bright guardian of th' extended clime, Graces the solemn court with port sublime. Round the august Divan, a mournful look Bent the sad Queen—and brooding silence broke; Ire mix'd with grief convolv'd her labouring breast, While she the anxious Peers with grace address'd. Ye various rulers of th' extended shores, Where bounteous day his brightest radiance pours; On whose ripe vales the fat'ning deluge flows, Luxuriance sits, eternal summer glows; Say, can ye longer brook the savage hand, That spreads destruction o'er the wasted land? Can ye resistless see the ruthless chain Still spread its horrors o'er th' unpeopled plain? Look over yonder main that shakes the shores, Where yon Green-promontory's summit soars, The tawny sail our surging bulwark braves, Wafted by cruel winds, and treacherous waves; Europe's pale sons direct the barb'rous prow, Fraught with dire stores and instruments of woe. The tainted freight, with false luxurious glares Of dang'rous hue, the splendid bait prepares; Beneath the semblance of whose dazzling store Lurks the dire barb, that taints and thins our shore. Say, shall these tyrants with inhuman aim Our hapless sons and weeping daughters claim? Shall we—O blind!—still aid the ruffian band, That stains our coast, and bares our wretched land? Our realms, alas! abandon'd to despair, Supinely sunk, the slavish shackles wear: Surges in vain defend the burning strand; In vain impervious forests fence the land. Our native monsters treach'rous tameness shew, Forget their fury, and admit the foe; Our rebel crocodiles their fierceness lose, Shrouding their treason in the gelid ooze; Our stingless serpents twine in gentle play, And harmless tygers crop the flow'ry spray; The recreant lion smooths his savage eye, While the dire spoiler stalks unheeded by. Fly to your sep'rate realms, ye chiefs of worth, And call the vengeful pow'rs of Afric forth; Summon Disease, with all her ghastly brood, To greet these traffickers in human blood, Call forth the terrors of the fervid skies; Bid misty demons from your marshes rise; With congregated horrors crowd the plain— And drive these pallid robbers o'er the main! An awful murmur instantly transpires— Th' applause, that wisdom gives, when genius fires; Not the vain shout the shallow rabble draws, But conscious judgment's well-approving pause. Nor with weak praise they greet the scepter'd fair, But speed to execute th' important care. Now thro' the dusky air they range their flight, Veil'd by the cov'ring of the baleful night. To thousand realms the charge vindictive flies: In thousand realms the summon'd furies rise; From the dark stores of pain they dreadful arm— In fell array the hideous legions swarm; Presageful, dire, the grim battalions spread, And waste the brooding night in purpose dread. Red from the foggy east the sun ascends, And gleams new terror on th' envenom'd fiends: Round their ghaunt leaders throng th' unsightly host, Rear the black sign, and fill th' allotted post. In heavy columns troops lethargic sound. Flap their huge banners, throw their opiates round, Fierce o'er the field conflagrant squadrons bend, And fiery fevers thro' the regions send. While from moist clouds, brooding o'er desarts bare, Where Zambre's stagnant lake pollutes the air, Press frigid agues in th' alternate row, And give their chill variety to woe. But chief—the multitude that crowds the field, That points the spear, and lifts the Gorgon shield, Breaks from the slimy marsh and swampy plains, Where proud Benin in triple bulwark reigns. Call'd by the zenith sun, the putrid band Spreads its corrosive poisons o'er the land: Myriads of sprites their gather'd venoms throw, And acrid arrows fly from ev'ry bow. Rang'd in broad horror, with extended line, In dread battallia the grim spectres shine, Unnumber'd, gory standards wave around, And shrieks and groans (their native music) sound, But now, a dreadful pause—spread wide and far— Throws more than terror o'er the baleful war. Such dreadful pause shall frighted Nature feel, 'Ere the last trump resounds th' eternal peal, For full in front—in shadowy greatness rear'd Their ghastly leader, Night-born Death appear'd! They rend the wounded air with shouts abhorr'd; Their ruthless monarch gives th' horrific word; Marshals, elate, the rav'ning squadrons o'er, And leads his Furies to the fated shore. And now the Bark, advancing o'er the main, Drags her disastrous store of guilt and pain— Approaches, baneful, spreads her dazzling snares, Her glaring instruments of woe prepares, To catch, malign, with many a practic'd wile, And all the mazes of Delusion's guile, The impious native, whom Corruption's hand Has led to desolate his injur'd land. Wide o'er the soil dire agents wing their way Insatiate prowl for the devoted prey. Unfeeling Avarice deals the galling wound, Destructive hurls the flaming brand around. See—his fell torches spread devouring fires! The peaceful village in the blaze expires. Sunk in the terrors of their burning rage, Lie helpless infancy and feeble age: And vigour—flying the consuming ray, 'Scapes—to more poignant ills the wretched prey, To drag, in tears, and chains his lingering day. The harmless cultivator of the soil, Returning from the task of pleasing toil, Torn from the shelter of his kindred grounds, Is dragg'd to bonds, to stripes, and smarting wounds. Meanwhile his anxious wife, with eager eye, Looks on the homeward path, and evening sky. Children, bereft, the nightly boon require, And anxious call their slow-returning sire. Ne'er shall returning sire his children bless— Ne'er shall the weeping wife her husband press— Destruction bursting ev'ry tender band, Sweeps, like a deluge, thro' the hapless land! Slow to the shores now march the fetter'd crowd, Tugging huge chains, or bent beneath the load. Torn from all kindred ties dismay'd they stand, While prying cruelty's insulting hand, Minutely vigilant, with butcher skill, Turns the examin'd wretch at savage will, And (ev'ry limb and ev'ry joint survey'd) Completes the practice of the brutal trade. Now the sad purchase—Heav'ns! my pow'rs refuse, Tho' truth illumines, and tho' fires the muse. Nature recoils, and in her depths profound, Receives, heart-struck, the parricidal wound! As the wan traders pay the price of blood, O'er the black prospect gathering terrors brood: The guardian spirits look with horror down, And change their song of peace to joyless groan. E'en the bright angel, to enrol the deed Sent by thron'd Justice,—shrouds the inverted head; And, as the mortal crime his fingers trace, Veils, with his snowy vest, his crimson'd face. The gloomy ship, in sable terror drest Receives the burthen of the wretched guest; Torn as his bosom is, still wonder glows As on the vast machine attention grows. Wonder, commix'd with anguish, shakes his frame, At the strange sight his language cannot name. Ropes, tackles, spars and ponderous engines seem As racking instruments, prepar'd for him: And, as his doom new horrors seem t' await, His manly heart sinks at th' uncertain fate. The yawning deck now opes the dreary cell; Hot mists exhale in many a putrid smell. Loaded with chains, at length the hapless slave, Plung'd in the darkness of the floating cave, With horror sees the hatch way close his sight— His last hope leaves him with the parting light! Now from the embattled pests that cloud the shore, And hovering wait the ripe, avenging hour, Their icy Leader calls a blood-nurs'd fiend— Hell ne'er saw direr from her womb ascend! Perch'd on a rack he held his ruthless stand; A scorpion scourge wav'd in his wither'd hand; Snaky his locks—with eye-balls roll'd in flame; Sin's second-born, and Cruelty his name. Him to the trading mast the vengeful King, Precursive sends, with many a venom'd sting; For, here, ere Death the slackened heart-string tears, Still savage Cruelty the wound prepares. With flaggy wing th' infected air he wounds, 'Till hovering o'er the vessel's murky bounds, The master's kindred form he cowering spies— Swift through the sanguin'd eye rapacious hies To the congenial mansion rushes prone, And on the willing heart erects his throne. Then Tyranny inflam'd stalks uncontrol'd, And raging Furies their sharp stores unfold. Pallid or black—the free or fetter'd band, Fall undistinguish'd by the ruffian hand. Nor age's awe, nor sex's softness charm; Nor law, nor feeling, wrest the blood-steep'd arm. While, skill'd in ev'ry torture that can rend, O'er gasping heaps exults the rav'ning fiend. Mark, how in hellish wantonness, he calls Yon trembling innocent—the sight appals! The weeping sacrifice, with nervless pace, Obeys the mandate—while his infant face The butcher seizing, with infernal hold, Fastens his gripe in lacerating fold; In his torn mouth the wounded passage finds, And thro' the mangled cheeks his fingers winds! Convolv'd in pangs, that rev'rend form survey Beneath his country's wars and commerce grey, Now writhes his tortur'd frame! The scourges ply— And from the lash the quiv'ring morsels fly. Invention next, from her exhaustless stores, O'er the bare bones the venom'd lotion pours, Whose acrid salts in searching conflict dart, With pungent anguish bathing ev'ry, smart: The tortur'd fibres their last feeling strain, And life just vibrates on the strings of pain! Nor this the close: between his toothless jaws The furious monster the thwart iron draws— The poor relief to wail his fate deny'd, And the hot gore sent down in choaking tide, Unnaturally return'd with horrid force, Dire meal! again to throb its wasted course! But while new tortures raise the piercing cry, And wound with dreadful sight the wearied eye, Th' avenging hour arrives—in dreadful din The troops of wan Disease their march begin. With fervid eye they trace the fatal road Their agent Cruelty had mark'd with blood. Now droops the head in faint dejection hung, Now raging thirst enflames the dry-parch'd tongue; In yellow films the rayless eye is set, With chilling dews the loaded brow is wet; Fierce thro' the burning roads of purple life, The acrid venoms rush with mortal strife, Their poisons thro' th' intestine mazes bear, The viscous linings from their channels tear; Pour with corroding deluge thro' the frame, And whelm the vitals in the liquid flame. Th' infected air, upon her loaded wings, Thro' the warm ship the green contagion brings. Strew'd o'er the filthy deck, the fever'd lie, And for cool moisture raise the feeble cry; The pitying messmate brings the cheering draught, And, in the pious act, the venom'd shaft, Repays the charity with barb ingrate, And whelms the soother in the kindred fate. Three misty suns in beamless grief arose, And glimmer'd, Russel, on thy mortal woes! The fourth beheld th' eternal angel nigh, As Friendship, speechless, watch'd thy fading eye. While throbs convulsive thy strain'd vitals wrung, One only murmur trembl'd on thy tongue, One sov'reign accent rack'd thy parting frame— The reading sounds that form'd Maria's name! Th' expiring spark still glimmer'd in his eye As her lov'd name throb'd the deadly sigh! But the strong foe, with adamantine hand Drew round his faultering voice a triple band. Speechless—and pale—life faintly beat his breast, 'Till the sad sun beheld the purple west; Still on his pallid face—soft kindness strove, His lingering looks on Friendship dwelt and Love, And as his last pulse beat with quivering chill, His trembling eye-balls—look'd Maria still! Nor does the flaming sword of vengeance sheath, Tho' the last pang be paid to victor Death. O'er the fall'n reliques new dishonours brood; Unholy fury rends the sacred shroud; If to the sea consign'd—the hallow'd corse The briny monsters seize with savage force. If to the fresh'ning flood the lifeless clay, Rank alligators seize the quiv'ring prey. Or when, more-favour'd, on the burning land The kindred dust is mix'd with solemn hand, Fierce from his nightly watch and native wood, Lur'd by the distant scent of morbid blood, The tiger rushes by foul carnage led, From the fresh tomb tears up the reeking dead, Devours the mangled limbs—churns the chill gore, The last avenger of th' insulted shore! Like the wild screaming of the midnight blast, 'Midst the torn cordage of the shatter'd mast, With notes that pierce th' unwholsome welkin through, The shrill-blown pipe convenes the drooping crew. The wretched crew their o'ercharg'd bosoms smite, And rise to join the melancholy rite. With painful steps the burning deck they crowd, Or pensive hang upon the slacken'd shroud; Speechless they mark the foul presageful wave, That, Russell—parting, opes thy fluid grave! The jutting hatch, a sable bier, is laid, The pitchy pall throws a funereal shade, His honour'd corse in awful form dispos'd, Decent his clay-cold limbs—his eyelids clos'd; The long-lov'd ringlet once Maria grac'd, Upon his breast by holy Friendship plac'd; The sinking iron slung with duteous pains, In shrouded canvass wrapt his cold remains— A rev'rent silence the sad prospect draws; The sacred liturgy, with solemn pause, Swells the sad sound, at whose inverted doom, Plung'd in th' abyss, he finds the liquid tomb! Aw'd by the scene—in melancholy mood And dumb despair, they view the closing flood; The smooth impression they dejected eye— For, yet, soft feeling prompts the pitying sigh. As yet, the tender tear of sorrow's shed; As yet some languid honours grace the dead. But soon, in selfish agony anneal'd, Cas'd by hard woe, by fiery suffering steel'd, Reckless, they'll listen to the screaming smart, The straining groan that rends th' associate heart. Soon, shroudless bodies, in unseemly sort, Thrown, frequent, through the blood-polluted port, Will whiten ocean—and, unburied, threat The pale survivors with a kindred fate! O ye, whose patriot wisdom still pervades, A nation's councils, and her vigour aids, Whose ceaseless vigilance—whose guardian skill (Earnest to fence from the encroaching ill) Marks where decay the time-form'd fabric bends; Props the huge ruin; the rent work defends: Against misrule, corruption, wrong, provides; Bulwarks from evil, from disorder guides— Say, can ye turn from the impressive scene— From Britain, bleeding in her dearest vein? Can ye with negligence the ruin pass? Or through pale interest's distorting glass See the false statement, unreprov'd, enforce, That annual murder is the seaman's nurse! O tear the specious veil, which Avarice throws Before the foul deformity of woes, The congregated ills, the wasteful toil, That bares our fleets, and widows half the isle. Break the dire system, whose audacious boast, Would lift Destruction to the hallow'd post Of injur'd Commerce; and, with blushless aim, Usurp the honours of her sacred name. END OF THE SECOND BOOK. |
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