“Thou gav’st, in thy caprice, the Soul “Peculiarly enshrin’d; “Nor from the ebon Casket stole “The Jewel of the mind! “Then wherefore let the suffering Negro’s breast “Bow to his fellow, MAN, in brighter colours drest. VIII. “Is it the dim and glossy hue “That marks him for despair?— “While men with blood their hands embrue, “And mock the wretch’s pray’r? “Shall guiltless Slaves the Scourge of tyrants feel, “And, e’en before their GOD! unheard, unpitied kneel. IX. “Could the proud rulers of the land “Our Sable race behold; “Some bow’d by torture’s Giant hand “And others, basely sold! “Then would they pity Slaves, and cry, with shame, “Whate’er their TINTS may be, their SOULS are still the same! X. “Why seek to mock the Ethiop’s face? “Why goad our hapless kind? “Can features alienate the race— “Is there no kindred mind? “Does not the cheek which vaunts the roseate hue “Oft blush for crimes, that Ethiops never knew? XI. “Behold! the angry waves conspire “To check the barb’rous toil! “While wounded Nature’s vengeful ire— “Roars, round this trembling Isle! “And hark! her voice re-echoes in the wind— “Man was not form’d by Heav’n, to trample on his kind! XII. “Torn from my Mother’s aching breast, “My Tyrant sought my love— “But, in the Grave shall ZELMA rest, “E’er she will faithless prove— “No DRACO!—Thy companion I will be “To that celestial realm, where Negroes shall be free! XIII. “The Tyrant WHITE MAN taught my mind— “The letter’d page to trace;— “He taught me in the Soul to find “No tint, as in the face: “He bade my Reason, blossom like the tree— “But fond affection gave, the ripen’d fruits to thee. XIV. “With jealous rage he mark’d my love; “He sent thee far away;— “And prison’d in the plantain grove— “Poor ZELMA pass’d the day— “But ere the moon rose high above the main, “ZELMA, and Love contriv’d, to break the Tyrant’s chain. XV. “Swift, o’er the plain of burning Sand “My course I bent to thee; “And soon I reach’d the billowy strand “Which bounds the stormy Sea.— “DRACO! my Love! Oh yet, thy ZELMA’s soul “Springs ardently to thee,—impatient of controul. XVI. “Again the lightning flashes white— “The rattling cords among! “Now, by the transient vivid light, “I mark the frantic throng! “Now up the tatter’d shrouds my DRACO flies— “While o’er the plunging prow, the curling billows rise. XVII.