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 suffering since ye brought us To the man-degrading mart; All, sustained 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 color of our kind. Slaves of gold! whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, Ere you proudly question ours. W. Cowper. CLXXXVI. LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. Toll for the brave! the brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave, whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, and laid her on her side. A laud-breeze shook the shrouds, and she was overset; Down went the Royal George, with all her crew complete! Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought his work of glory done. It was not in the battle; no tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak; she ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, his fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down, with twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, once dreaded by our foes, And mingle with our cup the tear that England owes! Her timbers yet are sound, and she may float again, Full charged with England's thunder, and plow the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, his victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred shall plow the waves no more. W. Cowper. CXXXVII. SLAVERY.