O man fuperior reason's light was giv'n ; Reason, the nobleft gift of bounteous Heav'n, Unfailing beam, bright intellectual ray,
Thou steady guide through error's devious way;
Say, wert thou firft by gracious Heav'n defign'd
To ftamp injuftice on the human kind?
Forbid it truth, forbid it ev'ry breast
That heaves in pity for the wretch opprefs'd:
Yet reafon, juftice, mercy, plead in vain,
Still the fad victim drags his galling chain;
Still bows fubmiffive to the tyrant hand,
That tore the fuff'rer from his native land';
Yet, ere the arts of luxury began,
They boafted liberty, the right of man ;
Serene, they faw each peaceful morning fmile,
Joy led their hours, and plenty blefs'd their toil;
Their pleading fighs, their fuppliant moving pray'r,
Daughter of Virtue! Royal Charlotte, hear!
Sovereign, yet parent, of this happy ifle,
O'er whofe gay plains fair plenty deigns to fmile;
Where spotless peace extends her azure wing;
And liberty's enchanting blossoms spring;
Thine is compaffion's sympathetic figh,
The melting tear that beams in pity's eye;
The heart like thine, that feels another's pain,
Hears not diftrefs'd misfortune plead in vain ;
Be't thine to heal pale forrow's wounded breast,
And lull each raging paffion into reft;
Let not the wretched slave in vain deplore
The long-loft joys he must behold no more;
Then, while Britannia hails thy facred name,
A deed like this fhall fwell the trump of fame;
Virtues like thine fhall wake the founding lyre,
Each bofom glow with emulative fire;
And, fwell'd with themes like this, the poet's page
Remain admir'd through each fucceeding age.
When Superftition rais'd her threat'ning hand,
And scatter'd horror round the bleeding land,
On fad Britannia's ravag'd plains the ftood,
Drench'd in one fatal ftream of martyr'd blood;
O'er ev'ry scene, with fell delight, fhe flew,
And fmil'd, exulting, at the dreadful view;
Religion's facred truths, though once defign'd
To banish error from the darken'd mind,'
Avail'd not here; her pure celeftial light,
Loft in the gloom of fuperftition's night,
Drooping, beheld the fatal torrent roll
Refiftlefs terrors o'er the doubtful foul;
Till bright Eliza came, whose matchless sway
Call'd forth the dawn of fair religion's day;
Cherifh'd the genial influence as it róse,
Difpell'd their errors and reliev'd their woes.
Shall Britain, then, who boasts thʼ unrivall’d deed,
Relentless, fee the guiltlefs victim bleed?
'Amid the horrors of tormenting pain
He feeks for mercy, but he feeks in vain;
Affrighted Mercy quits the guilty land,
Where grim Oppreffion waves her tyrant hand;
Where, to the favage herd a harmless prey,
Sinks faint beneath the fervid beam of day;
Or, haply trembling in the midnight air,
Sunk in the deepest gloom of low despair;
Or burning thirst and furious want, combin'd,
With wild distraction fire his glowing mind,
Till death reftores to him eternal rest,
And calms the tumults of his troubled breast.
The British youth, torn from his much-lov'd home,
O'er foreign feas and foreign coafts to roam,
Amid the fury of the piercing blaft,
The fwell'd wave circling round the fhiver'd maft,
While bursting peals of thunder rend the skies,
And o'er the deck the foaming billows rife,
Awhile in terror views the lightning glare,
With streaming horror, through the midnight air;
The ftorm once paft, he gains the friendly ray
Of hope, to guide him through the dang’rous way ;
Smiling, fhe bids each future prospect rise,
Through fancy's vary'd mirror, to his eyes.
Not fo the flave; opprefs'd with secret care,
He finks the hapless victim of despair;
Or, doom'd to torments that might even move
The fteely heart, and melt it into love;
Till worn with anguish, with'ring in his bloom,
He falls an early tenant of the tomb !
Shall Britain view, unmov'd, fad Afric's shore
Delug'd so oft in ftreams of purple gore!
Britain, where science, peace, and plenty, smile,
Virtue's bright feat and freedom's favour'd isle !
Rich are her plains and fruitful is her clime,
The fcourge of tyrants, and the boast of time;
Of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry worth, poffefs'd,
That fires the hero's or the patriot's breast :
There, nobly warm'd with animating fire,
Our Shakespeare ftruck his foul-commanding lyre;
There scenes of blifs immortal Milton fung,
And notes harmonious iffued from his tongue :
And bards like these shall boast in ev'ry age,
While native genius glows in Hayley's page;
While genius bids, to our enchanted eyes,
In Swift's own strains, a fecond Pope arife.
When truth, perplex'd in error's thorny maze,
Threw o'er the world obfcur'd and darken'd rays,
Then Newton rose, unveil'd the beauteous maid
He spoke, and nature ftood at once display'd.
These were the fouls that Britain once poffefs'd,
When genuine virtue fir'd the patriot's breast;
And still shall she protect fair freedom's caufe,
And vindicate her violated laws;
Waft peace and freedom to a wretched land,
And scatter bleffings with a lib'ral hand.
In Britain's paradife, by freedom made,
The tree of commerce spreads its ample shade;
Unfparing plenty bends the lofty brow,
And wealth bright glitters on each golden bough;
On fome the richest gems of India shone,
And added luftre to the British throne;
Such as in gentle radiance might outvie
The melting luftre of the sparkling eye;
Such as in gay variety might grace
The native beauties of the lovely face:
On fome the bud of health, in rofy bloom,
Call'd languid fickness from an early tomb;
Or bade contented labour calmly smile
O'er the rich profpect of his native foil.
One ample branch, fuperior to the reft,
Rofe to the view, in fplendid radiance drefs'd;
On ev'ry leaf the tempting manna hung,
In golden dyes each beauteous blossom sprung;
The flow'rs of brighteft hue oppreffion nam'd,
Yet from the tree the rank of commerce claim'd.
Led by the fair deceit beneath its shade,
With eager eye the flaves of av'rice ftray'd;
This fatal fruit was lovelieft to the view,
That on the spreading tree of commerce grew;
They grafp'd the baneful load with fatal hafte,
Destructive poison to th' enchanted tafte;
Loft in the pleafing dream, awhile the foul,
Where av'rice reign'd fecure from all controul,
Slept calm, till confcience, with unerring dart,
Struck deep conviction through the guilty heart;
And bade reflection wake the feeling mind,
That turn'd to ev'ry scene it left behind:
There might they see the tortur'd wretch implore
Eternal vengeance on Britannia's shore;
In filent grief, amid distraction wild,
The wretched parent mourn her long-loft child:
These scenes appear when death, in terror dress'd,
Bids sharp repentance wound the fhudd'ring breast;
When o'er your heads th' avenging thunders roll,
And quick deftruction seems to snatch the foul;
When faft around the dreadful lightnings fall,
And guilt shall hear th' incens'd Almighty's call;
Then will his wrath deftroy the life he gave,
And justice fnatch the foul that mercy could not fave,
Britain, be thine the glorious task to heal
The bleeding wounds thy wretched fons fhall feel;
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