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For all that pleased in wood or lawn,

While Peace possess'd these silent bowers, Her animating smile withdrawn,

Has lost its beauties and its powers.

The saint or moralist should tread

This moss-grown alley musing, slow; They seek like me the secret shade,

But not like me to nourish woe !

Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste

Alike admonish not to roam ; These tell me of enjoyments past,

And those of sorrows yet to come.

MUTUAL FORBEARANCE

NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE,

The lady thus address’d her spouse-
What a mere dungeon is this house !
By no means large enough; and was it,
Yet this dull room, and that dark closet,
Those hangings with their worn-out graces,
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces,
Are such an antiquated scene,
They overwhelm me with the spleen,

Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
Makes answer quite beside the mark :
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come,
Engaged myself to be at home,
And shall expect him at the door
Precisely when the clock strikes four.

You are so deaf, the lady cried,
(And raised her voice, and frown'd beside,)
You are so sadly deaf, my dear,
What shall I do to make you hear ?

Dismiss poor Harry! he replies ;
Some people are more nice than wise:
For one slight trespass all this stir ?
What if he did ride whip and spur,
'Twas but a mile—your favourite horse
Will never look one hair the worse.

Well, I protest ’tis past all bearing--
Child ! I am rather hard of hearing--
Yes, truly—one must scream and bawl:
I tell you, you can't hear at all !
Then, with a voice exceeding low,
No matter if you hear or no.

Alas! and is domestic strife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear’d,
As to be wantonly incurr’d,
To gratify a fretful passion,
On every trivial provocation ?
The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear;

And something every day they live
To pity, and perhaps forgive.
But if infirmities, that fall
In common to the lot of all,
A blemish or a sense impair’d,
Are crimes so little to be spared,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar,
And tumult, and intestine war.

The love that cheers life's latest stage,
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserved by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention ;
But lives, when that exterior grace,
Which first inspired the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate or blind,
And will with sympathy endure
Those evils it would gladly cure:
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression
Shows love to be a mere profession ;
Proves that the heart is none of his,
Or soon expels him if it is.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.

FORCED from home and all its pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn ;
To increase a stranger's treasures,

O’er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,

Paid my price in paltry gold ; But, though slave they have enrolld me

Minds are never to be sold.

Still in thought as free as ever,

What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever,

Me to torture, me to task ? Fleecy locks and black complexion

Cannot forfeit nature's claim ; Skins may differ, but affection

Dwells in white and black the same.

Why did all-creating Nature

Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water,

Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters iron-hearted,

Lolling at your jovial boards,
Think how many backs have smarted

For the sweets your cane affords.

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,

Is there one who reigns on high ? Has he bid you buy and sell us,

Speaking from his throne the sky ? Ask him, if your knotted scourges,

Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges,

Agents of his will to use ?

Hark! he answers-wild tornadoes,

Strewing yonder sea with wrecks ; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,

Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations

Afric's sons should undergo, Fix'd their tyrants’ habitations

Where his whirlwinds answer-no.

By our blood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks received the chain ; By the miseries that we tasted,

Crossing in your barks the main ; By our sufferings, since ye brought us

To the man-degrading mart
All sustain'd by patience, taught us

Only by a broken heart;

Deem our nation brutes no longer,

Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, and stronger

Than the colour of our kind.

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