| BRISTOL, thine heart hath throbb'd to glory.--Slaves, |
| E'en Christian slaves, have shook their chains, and
gaz'd |
| With wonder and amazement on thee. Hence |
| Ye grov'ling souls, who think the term I give, |
| 5 Of Christian slave, a paradox! to you |
| I do not turn, but leave you to conception |
[2]
|
| Narrow; with that be blest, nor dare to stretch |
| Your shackled souls along the course of Freedom. |
| Yet, Bristol, list! nor deem Lactilla's soul |
| 10 Lessen'd by distance; snatch her rustic thought, |
| Her crude ideas, from their panting state, |
| And let them fly in wide expansion; lend |
| Thine energy, so little understood |
| By the rude million, and I'll dare the strain |
| 15 Of Heav'n-born Liberty till Nature moves |
| Obedient to her voice. Alas! my friend, |
| Strong rapture dies within the soul, while Pow'r |
| Drags on his bleeding victims. Custom, Law, |
| Ye blessings, and ye curses of mankind, |
| 20 What evils do ye cause? We feel enslaved, |
| Yet move in your direction. Custom, thou |
[3]
|
| Wilt preach up filial piety; thy sons |
| Will groan, and stare with impudence at Heav'n, |
| As if they did abjure the act, where Sin |
| 25 Sits full on Inhumanity; the church |
| They fill with mouthing, vap'rous sighs and tears, |
| Which, like the guileful crocodile's, oft fall, |
| Nor fall, but at the cost of human bliss. |
| Custom, thou hast undone us! led us far |
| 30 From God-like probity, from truth, and heaven. |
| But come, ye souls who feel for human woe, |
| Tho' drest in savage guise! Approach, thou son, |
| Whose heart would shudder at a father's chains, |
| And melt o'er thy lov'd brother as he lies |
| 35 Gasping in torment undeserv'd. Oh, sight |
[4]
|
| Horrid and insupportable! far worse |
| Than an immediate, an heroic death; |
| Yet to this sight I summon thee. Approach, |
| Thou slave of avarice, that canst see the maid |
| 40 Weep o'er her inky fire! Spare me, thou God |
| Of all-indulgent Mercy, if I scorn |
| This gloomy wretch, and turn my tearful eye |
| To more enlighten'd beings. Yes, my tear |
| Shall hang on the green furze, like pearly dew |
| 45 Upon the blossom of the morn. My song |
| Shall teach sad Philomel a louder note, |
| When Nature swells her woe. O'er suff'ring man
|
| My soul with sorrow bends! Then come, ye few |
| Who feel a more than cold, material essence; |
| 50 Here ye may vent your sighs, till the bleak North |
| Find its adherents aided. --Ah, no more! |
[5]
|
| The dingy youth comes on, sullen in chains; |
| He smiles on the rough sailor, who aloud |
| Strikes at the spacious heav'n, the earth, the sea, |
| 55 In breath too blasphemous; yet not to him
|
| Blasphemous, for he dreads not
either:--lost |
| In dear internal imag'ry, the soul |
| Of Indian Luco rises to his eyes, |
| Silent, not inexpressive: the strong beams |
| 60 With eager wildness yet drink in the view |
| Of his too humble home, where he had left |
| His mourning father, and his Incilanda. |
| Curse on the toils spread by a Christian hand |
| To rob the Indian of his freedom! Curse |
| 65 On him who from a bending parent steals |
| His dear support of age, his darling child; |
[6]
|
| Perhaps a son, or a more tender
daughter, |
| Who might have clos'd his eyelids, as the spark |
| Of life gently retired. Oh, thou poor world! |
| 70 Thou fleeting good to individuals! see |
| How much for thee they care, how wide they ope |
| Their helpless arms to clasp thee; vapour thou! |
| More swift than passing wind! thou leav'st them
nought |
| Amid th'unreal scene, but a scant
grave. |
| 75 I know the crafty merchant will oppose |
| The plea of nature to my strain, and urge |
| His toils are for his children: the soft plea |
| Dissolves my soul--but when I sell a
son,
|
|
Thou God of nature, let it be my own!
|
| 80 Behold that Christian! see what horrid joy |
[7]
|
| Lights up his moody features, while he grasps |
| The wish'd-for gold, purchase of human blood! |
| Away, thou seller of mankind! Bring on |
| Thy daughter to this market! bring thy wife! |
| 85 Thine aged mother, though of little worth, |
| With all thy ruddy boys! Sell them, thou wretch, |
| And swell the price of Luco! Why that start? |
| Why gaze as thou wouldst fright me from my challenge |
| With look of anguish? Is it Nature strains |
| 90 Thine heart-strings at the image? Yes, my charge |
| Is full against her, and she rends thy soul, |
| While I but strike upon thy pityless ear, |
| Fearing her rights are violated. --Speak, |
| Astound the voice of Justice! bid thy
tears |
| 95 Melt the unpitying pow'r, while thus she claims |
| The pledges of thy love. Oh, throw thine arm |
[8]
|
| Around thy little ones, and loudly plead |
| Thou canst not sell thy children. --Yet,
beware |
| Lest Luco's groan be heard; should that prevail, |
| 100 Justice will scorn thee in her turn, and hold |
| Thine act against thy pray'r. Why clasp, she cries, |
| That blooming youth? Is it because thou lov'st him? |
| Why Luco was belov'd: then wilt thou feel, |
| Thou selfish Christian, for thy private woe, |
| 105 Yet cause such pangs to him that is a father? |
| Whence comes thy right to barter for thy fellows? |
| Where are thy statutes? Whose the iron pen |
| That gave thee precedent? Give me the seal |
| Of virtue, or religion, for thy trade, |
| 110 And I will ne'er upbraid thee; but if force |
| Superior, hard brutality alone |
[9]
|
| Become thy boast, hence to some savage haunt, |
| Nor claim protection from my social laws. |
| Luco is gone; his little brothers weep, |
| 115 While his fond mother climbs the hoary rock |
| Whose point o'er-hangs the main. No Luco there, |
| No sound, save the hoarse billows. On she roves, |
| With love, fear, hope, holding alternate rage |
| In her too anxious bosom. Dreary main! |
| 120 Thy murmurs now are riot, while she stands |
| List'ning to ev&ry breeze, waiting the step |
| Of gentle Luco. Ah, return! return! |
| Too hapless mother, thy indulgent arms |
| Shall never clasp thy fetter'd Luco more. |
| 125 See Incilanda! artless maid, my soul |
| Keeps pace with thee, and mourns. Now o'er the hill |
[10]
|
| She creeps, with timid foot, while Sol embrowns |
| The bosom of the isle, to where she left |
| Her faithful lover: here the well-known cave, |
| 130 By Nature form'd amid the rock, endears |
| The image of her Luco; here his pipe, |
| Form'd of the polish'd cane, neglected lies, |
| No more to vibrate; here the useless dart, |
| The twanging bow, and the fierce panther's skin, |
| 135 Salute the virgin's eye. But where is Luco? |
| He comes not down the steep, tho' he had vow'd, |
| When the sun's beams at noon should sidelong gild |
| The cave's wide entrance, he would swift descend |
| To bless his Incilanda. Ten pale moons |
| 140 Had glided by, since to his generous breast |
| He clasp'd the tender maid, and whisper'd love. |
| Oh, mutual sentiment! thou dang'rous bliss! |
| So exquisite, that Heav'n had been unjust |
| Had it bestowd less exquisite of ill; |
| 145 When thou art held no more, thy pangs are deep, |
| Thy joys convulsive to the soul; yet all |
| Are meant to smooth th'uneven road of life. |
| For Incilanda, Luco rang'd the wild, |
| Holding her image to his panting heart; |
| 150 For her he strain'd the bow, for her he stript |
| The bird of beauteous plumage; happy hour, |
| When with these guiltless trophies he adorn'd |
| The brow of her he lov'd. Her gentle breast |
| With gratitude was fill'd, nor knew she aught |
| 155 Of language strong enough to paint her soul, |
| Or ease the great emotion; whilst her eye |
[12]
|
| Pursued the gen'rous Luco to the field, |
| And glow'd with rapture at his wish'd return. |
| Ah, sweet suspense! betwixt the mingled cares |
| 160 Of friendship, love, and gratitude, so mix'd, |
| That ev'n the soul may cheat herself.--Down, down, |
| Intruding Memory! bid thy struggles cease, |
| At this soft scene of innate war. What sounds |
| Break on her ear? She, starting, whispers "Luco." |
| 165 Be still, fond maid; list to the tardy step |
| Of leaden-footed woe. A father comes, |
| But not to seek his son, who from the deck |
| Had breath'd a last adieu: no, he shuts out |
| The soft, fallacious gleam of hope, and turns |
| 170 Within upon the mind: horrid and dark |
| Are his wild, unenlighten'd pow'rs: no ray |
[13]
|
| Of forc'd philosophy to calm his soul, |
| But all the anarchy of wounded nature. |
| Now he arraigns his country's gods, who sit, |
| 175 In his bright fancy, far beyond the hills, |
| Unriveting the chains of slaves: his heart |
| Beats quick with stubborn fury, while he doubts |
| Their justice to his child. Weeping old man, |
| Hate not a Christian's God, whose record holds |
| 180 Thine injured Luco's name. Frighted he starts, |
| Blasphemes the Deity, whose altars rise |
| Upon the Indian's helpless neck, and sinks, |
| Despising comfort, till by grief and age |
| His angry spirit is forced out. Oh, guide, |
| 185 Ye angel-forms, this joyless shade to worlds |
| Where the poor Indian, with the sage, is
prov'd |
[14]
|
| The work of a Creator. Pause not here, |
| Distracted maid! ah, leave the breathless form, |
| On whose cold cheek thy tears so swiftly fall, |
| 190 Too unavailing! On this stone, she cries, |
| My Luco sat, and to the wand'ring stars |
| Pointed my eye, while from his gentle tongue |
| Fell old traditions of his country's woe. |
| Where now shall Incilanda seek him? Hence, |
| 195 Defenceless mourner, ere the dreary night |
| Wrap thee in added horror. Oh, Despair, |
| How eagerly thou rend'st the heart! She pines |
| In anguish deep, and sullen: Luco's form |
| Pursues her, lives in restless thought, and chides |
| 200 Soft consolation. Banish'd from his arms, |
| She seeks the cold embrace of death; her soul |
| Escapes in one sad sigh. Too hapless maid! |
[15]
|
| Yet happier far than he thou lov'dst; his tear, |
| His sigh, his groan avail not, for they plead |
| 205 Most weakly with a Christian. Sink, thou wretch, |
| Whose act shall on the cheek of Albion's sons |
| Throw Shame's red blush: thou, who hast frighted far |
| Those simple wretches from thy God, and taught |
| Their erring minds to mourn his2
partial love, |
| 210 Profusely pour'd on thee, while they are left |
| Neglected to thy mercy. Thus deceiv'd, |
| How doubly dark must be their road to
death! |
| Luco is borne around the neighb'ring isles, |
| Losing the knowledge of his native shore |
[16]
|
| 215 Amid the pathless wave; destin'd to plant |
| The sweet luxuriant cane. He strives to please, |
| Nor once complains, but greatly smothers grief. |
| His hands are blister'd, and his feet are worn, |
| Till ev'ry stroke dealt by his mattock gives |
| 220 Keen agony to life; while from his breast |
| The sigh arises, burthen'd with the name |
| Of Incilanda. Time inures the youth, |
| His limbs grow nervous, strain'd by willing toil; |
| And resignation, or a calm despair, |
| 225 (Most useful either) lulls him to repose. |
| A Christian renegade, that from his soul |
| Abjures the tenets of our schools, nor dreads |
| A future punishment, nor hopes for mercy, |
| Had fled from England, to avoid those laws |
[17]
|
| 230 Which must have made his life a retribution |
| To violated justice, and had gain'd, |
| By fawning guile, the confidence (ill placed) |
| Of Luco's master. O'er the slave he stands |
| With knotted whip, lest fainting nature shun |
| 235 The task too arduous, while his cruel soul, |
| Unnat'ral, ever feeds, with gross delight, |
| Upon his suff rings. Many slaves there were, |
| But none who could supress the sigh, and bend, |
| So quietly as Luco: long he bore |
| 240 The stripes, that from his manly bosom drew |
| The sanguine stream (too little priz'd); at length |
| Hope fled his soul, giving her struggles o'er, |
| And he resolv'd to die. The sun had reach'd |
| His zenith--pausing faintly, Luco stood, |
| 245 Leaning upon his hoe, while mem'ry brought, |
[18]
|
| In piteous imag'ry, his aged father, |
| His poor fond mother, and his faithful maid: |
| The mental group in wildest motion set |
| Fruitless imagination; fury, grief, |
| 250 Alternate shame, the sense of insult, all |
| Conspire to aid the inward storm; yet words |
| Were no relief, he stood in silent woe. |
| Gorgon, remorseless Christian, saw the slave |
| Stand musing, 'mid the ranks, and, stealing soft |
| 255 Behind the studious Luco, struck his cheek |
| With a too-heavy whip, that reach'd his eye, |
| Making it dark for ever. Luco turn'd, |
| In strongest agony, and with his hoe |
| Struck the rude Christian on the forehead. Pride, |
| 260 With hateful malice, seize on Gorgon's soul, |
[19]
|
| By nature fierce; while Luco sought the beach, |
| And plung'd beneath the wave; but near him lay |
| A planter's barge, whose seamen grasp'd his hair |
| Dragging to life a wretch who wish'd to die. |
| 265 Rumour now spreads the tale, while Gorgon's breath |
| Envenom'd, aids her blast: imputed crimes |
| Oppose the plea of Luco, till he scorns |
| Even a just defence, and stands prepared. |
| The planters, conscious that to fear alone |
| 270 They owe their cruel pow'r, resolve to blend |
| New torment with the pangs of death, and hold |
| Their victims high in dreadful view, to fright |
| The wretched number left. Luco is chain'd |
| To a huge tree, his fellow-slaves are ranged |
| 275 To share the horrid sight; fuel is plac'd |
[20]
|
| In an increasing train, some paces back, |
| To kindle slowly, and approach the youth, |
| With more than native terror. See, it burns! |
| He gazes on the growing flame, and calls |
| 280 For "water, water!" The small boon's deny'd. |
| E'en Christians throng each other, to behold |
| The different alterations of his face, |
| As the hot death approaches. (Oh, shame, shame |
| Upon the followers of Jesus! shame |
| 285 On him that dares avow a God!) He writhes, |
| While down his breast glide the unpity'd tears, |
| And in their sockets strain their scorched balls. |
| "Burn, burn me quick! I cannot die!" he cries: |
| "Bring fire more close!" The planters heed him not, |
| 290 But still prolonging Luco's torture, threat |
| Their trembling slaves around. His lips are dry, |
[21]
|
| His senses seem to quiver, e'er they quit |
| His frame for ever, rallying strong, then driv'n |
| From the tremendous conflict. Sight no more |
| 295 Is Luco's, his parch'd tongue is ever mute; |
| Yet in his soul his Incilanda stays, |
| Till both escape together. Turn, my muse, |
| From this sad scene; lead Bristol's milder soul |
| To where the solitary spirit roves, |
| 300 Wrapt in the robe of innocence, to shades |
| Where pity breathing in the gale, dissolves |
| The mind, when fancy paints such real woe. |
| Now speak, ye Christians (who for gain enslave |
| A soul like Luco's, tearing her from joy |
| 305 In life's short vale; and if there be a hell, |
| As ye believe, to that ye thrust her
down, |
[22]
|
| A blind, involuntary victim), where |
| Is your true essence of religion? where |
| Your proofs of righteousness, when ye conceal |
| 310 The knowledge of the Deity from those |
| Who would adore him fervently? Your God |
| Ye rob of worshippers, his altars keep |
| Unhail'd, while driving from the sacred font |
| The eager slave, lest he should hope in
Jesus.
|
| 315 Is this your piety? Are these your laws, |
| Whereby the glory of the Godhead spreads |
| O'er barb'rous climes? Ye hypocrites, disown |
| The Christian name, nor shame its cause: yet where |
| Shall souls like yours find welcome? Would the Turk, |
| 320 Pagan, or wildest Arab, ope their arms |
| To gain such proselytes? No; he that owns |
[23]
|
| The name of 3
Mussulman would start, and shun |
| Your worse than serpent touch; he frees his slave |
| Who turns to Mahomet. The Spaniard4
stands |
| 325 Your brighter contrast; he condemns the youth |
| For ever to the mine; but ere the wretch |
| Sinks to the deep domain, the hand of Faith |
| Bathes his faint temples in the sacred stream, |
| Bidding his spirit hope. Briton, dost thou |
| 330 Act up to this? If so, bring on thy slaves |
| To Calv'ry's mount, raise high their kindred souls |
| To him who died to save them: this alone |
| Will teach them calmly to obey thy rage, |
| And deem a life of misery but a day, |
[24]
|
| 335 To long eternity. Ah, think how soon |
| Thine head shall on earth's dreary pillow lie, |
| With thy poor slaves, each silent, and unknown |
| To his once furious neighbour. Think how swift |
| The sands of time ebb out, for him and thee. |
| 340 Why groans that Indian youth, in burning chains |
| Suspended o'er the beach? The lab'ring sun |
| Strikes from his full meridian on the slave |
| Whose arms are blister'd by the heated iron, |
| Which still corroding, seeks the bone. What crime |
| 345 Merits so dire a death?5
Another gasps |
[25]
|
| With strongest agony, while life declines |
| From recent amputation. Gracious God! |
| Why thus in mercy let thy whirlwinds sleep |
| O'er a vile race of Christians, who profane |
| 350 Thy glorious attributes? Sweep them from earth, |
| Or check their cruel pow'r: the savage tribes |
| Are angels when compared to brutes like these. |
| Advance, ye Christians, and oppose my strain: |
| Who dares condemn it? Prove from laws divine, |
| 355 From deep philosophy, or social love, |
[26]
|
| That ye derive your privilege. I scorn |
| The cry of Av'rice, or the trade that drains |
| A fellow-creature's blood: bid Commerce plead |
| Her publick good, her nation's many wants, |
| 360 Her sons thrown idly on the beach, forbade |
| To seize the image of their God and sell it:-- |
| I'll hear her voice, and Virtue's hundred tongues |
| Shall sound against her. Hath our public good |
| Fell rapine for its basis? Must our wants |
| 365 Find their supply in murder? Shall the sons |
| Of Commerce shiv'ring stand, if not employ'd |
| Worse than the midnight robber? Curses fall |
| On the destructive system that shall need |
| Such base supports! Doth England need them? No; |
| 370 Her laws, with prudence, hang the meagre thief |
| That from his neighbour steals a slender sum, |
[27]
|
| Tho' famine drove him on. O'er him the
priest, |
| Beneath the fatal tree, laments the crime, |
| Approves the law, and bids him calmly die. |
| 375 Say, doth this law, that dooms the thief, protect |
| The wretch who makes another's life his prey, |
| By hellish force to take it at his will? |
| Is this an English law, whose guidance fails |
| When crimes are swell'd to magnitude so vast, |
| 380 That Justice dare not scan them? Or does
Law
|
| Bid Justice an eternal distance keep |
| From England's great tribunal, when the slave |
| Calls loud on Justice only? Speak, ye few |
| Who fill Britannia's senate, and are deem'd |
| 385 The fathers of your country! Boast your laws, |
| Defend the honour of a land so fall'n, |
[28]
|
| That Fame from ev'ry battlement is flown, |
| And Heathens start, e'en at a Christian's name. |
| Hail, social love! true soul of order,
hail! |
| 390 Thy softest emanations, pity, grief, |
| Lively emotion, sudden joy, and pangs, |
| Too. deep for language, are thy own: then rise, |
| Thou gentle angel! spread thy silken wings |
| O'er drowsy man, breathe in his soul, and give |
| 395 Her God-like pow'rs thy animating force, |
| To banish Inhumanity. Oh, loose |
| The fetters of his mind, enlarge his views, |
| Break down for him the bound of avarice, lift |
| His feeble faculties beyond a world |
| 400 To which he soon must prove a stranger! Spread |
| Before his ravish'd eye the varied tints |
[29]
|
| Of future glory; bid them live to Fame,
|
| Whose banners wave for ever. Thus inspired, |
|
All that is great, and good, and sweetly mild, |
| 405 Shall fill his noble bosom. He shall melt, |
| Yea, by thy sympathy unseen, shall feel |
| Another's pang: for the lamenting maid |
| His heart shall heave a sigh; with the old slave |
| (Whose head is bent with sorrow) he shall cast |
| 410 His eye back on the joys of youth, and say, |
| "Thou once couldst feel, as I do, love's pure bliss; |
| "Parental fondness, and the dear returns |
| "Of filial tenderness were thine, till torn |
| "From the dissolving scene." --Oh, social love, |
| 415 Thou universal good, thou that canst fill |
| The vacuum of immensity, and live |
| In endless void! thou that in motion first |
[30]
|
| Set'st the long lazy atoms, by thy force |
| Quickly assimilating, and restrain'd |
| 420 By strong attraction; touch the soul of man; |
| Subdue him; make a fellow-creature's woe |
| His own by heart-felt sympathy, whilst wealth |
| Is made subservient to his soft disease. |
| And when thou hast to high perfection wrought |
| 425 This mighty work, say, "such is Bristol's
soul."
|
F I N I S.
|
