The Death of

A

L I

C

O.

An African Slave, condemned for Rebellion, in Jamaica, 1762.

BY BRYANT EDWARDS, Esq. of Jamaica.

IS paft :-Ah! calm thy cares to rest!
Firm and unmov'd am I :-

TIS

In freedom's caufe I bar'd my breast,
In freedom's cause I die.

Ah ftop! thou doft me fatal wrong :
Nature will yet rebel;

For I have lov'd thee very long,

And lov'd thee very well.

To native skies and peaceful bow'rs,

I foon fhall wing my way;

Where joy fhall lead the circling hours,

Unless too long thy stay.

*He is fuppofed to addrefs his wife at the place of execution.

O speed, fair fun! thy courfe divine;
My Abala remove ;·

There thy bright beams fhall ever shine,
And I for ever love:

On these bleft fhores-a flave no more!
In peaceful eafe I'll ftray;

Or roufe to chafe the mountain boar,
As unconfin'd as day!

No chriftian tyrant there is known
To mark his fteps with blood,
Nor fable mis'ry's piercing moan
Refounds through ev'ry wood!

Yet I have heard the melting tongue,
Have seen the falling tear;

Known the good heart by pity wrung,
Ah! that fuch hearts are rare!

Now, Chriftian, glut thy ravifh'd eyes!
-I reach the joyful hour;

Now bid the scorching flames arise,
And these poor limbs devour :

But know, pale tyrant, 'tis not thine

Eternal war to wage;

The death thou giv'ft fhall but combiné To mock thy baffled rage.

O death, how welcome to th' oppreft!
Thy kind embrace I crave!

Thou bring'ft to mis'ry's bofom reft,
And freedom to the flave!

A

Ipfe cava folans agrum teftudine amorem,
Te dulcis conjux, te folo in littore fecum,
Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.

I.

T length efcap'd from every human eye,
From every duty, every care

That in my mournful thoughts might claim a fhare,
Or force my tears their flowing ftreams to dry,
Beneath the gloom of this embow'ring fhade,
This lone retreat, for tender forrow made,
I now may give my burthen'd heart relief,
And pour forth all my stores of grief,

Of grief furpaffing every other woe.
Far as the pureft blifs, the happiest love
Can on th' enobled mind beftow,
Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Our grofs defires, inelegant and low.

II.

Ye tufted groves, ye gently falling rills,
Ye high o'erfhading hills,

Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green,
Oft have you my Lucy feen!

་

But never fhall you now behold her more:
Nor will she now with fond delight
And tafte refin'd your fural charms explore.
Clos'd are thofe beauteous eyes in endless night,
Thofe beauteous eyes where beaming us'd to fhine
Reafon's pure light, and Virtue's spark divine.

III.

Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice
To hear her heavenly voice,

For her defpifing, when the deign'd to fing,
The fweeteft fongfters of the fpring:
The woodlark and the linnet pleas'd no more;
The nightingale was mute,

And every fhepherd's flute

Was caft in filent scorn away,
While all attended to her fweeter lay.
Ye larks and linnets now refume your fong,
And thou, melodious Philomel,
Again thy plaintive story tell.

For death has ftop'd that tuneful tongue,
Whofe mufic could alone your warbling notes excel.

IV.

In vain I look around

O'er all the well known ground

My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry;

Where oft we us'd to walk,
Where oft in tender talk

We faw the fummer fun go down the sky;
Nor by yon fountain's fide,
Nor where its waters glide
Along the valley, can fhe now be found:
In all the wide ftretch'd profpect's ample bound
No more my mournful eye

Can aught of her efpy,

But the fad facred earth where her dear relics lie.

V.

O fhades of H. -y, where is now your boaft?
Your bright inhabitant is loft.

You fhe prefer'd to all the gay reforts
Where female vanity might wish to fhine,
The pomp of cities and the pride of courts.
Her modeft beauties fhun'd the public eye :
To your fequefter'd dales

And flow'r-embroider'd vales

From an admiring world fhe chose to fly;
With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's GOD,
The filent paths of wisdom trod,
And banish'd every paffion from her breast,
But those the gentleft and the best,
Whofe holy flames with energy divine
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
The conjugal, and the maternal love.

VI.

Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns, Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns By your delighted mother's fide,

Who now your infant fteps fhall guide? Ah! where is now the hand whofe tender care To every virtue would have form'd your Youth, And ftrew'd with flow'rs the thorny ways of Truth?