Whilst awful pause marks the advancing ill, Whose gathering horrors the scar'd fancy fill, Like _Afric's_ own _Tornado_,—must its rise Be view'd, portentous, staining _British_ skies? Can the full storm, that blackens in its course, From _British_ climes derive its fated source? From _British_ climes, alas! the Demon springs, On whose polluted form and horrid wings Hangs, of dire Slavery, the collected store, Which, hapless _Afric_, on thy injur'd shore Shall, in its fulness of destruction, fall, Outraging, desolating, whelming all! At length th' unfeeling colleagues close combine, And midnight council broods the black design; Strikes the first link of the tremend'ous chain, Whose motion vibrates thro' the realms of pain. Th' insatiate thirst of av'rice to supply, Or fill the pomp of fancy's changing eye; For vice, intemp'rance, passion, to provide, To dress up folly, or to pamper pride, Th' infernal _traffic_'s plann'd. Now busy care Furrows each face, and clamours rend the air. The sounding anvil shakes the distant main, Forging with pond'rous strokes th' accursed chain. The' attractive _Outfit_ claims each bustling hand: Confusion works, and uproar gives command. Th' undaunted souls, whose manly bosoms dare The tempest's fury, or the nation's war, Whose unsuspecting hearts no dangers scan, Fall the first victims of th' enormous plan. Round them, nefarious agents spread the wing, And o'er unconscious youth their poisons fling. Polluted dens of infamy they throng, With painted vice, to raise the Syren-song; With specious arts subdue th' unwary mind, Close their limed web, their feeble victims bind. Fictitious debts, false oaths, undue arrests, Crowd the wrong'd prison with illegal guests. Immur'd from friendship's aid, unnerv'd by grief, Hopeless of justice—no disclos'd relief.— One only portal opes the gloomy road; One dire condition bursts the drear abode. _Slav'ry_'s dark genius heaves the iron door, And, grinning ghastly, points to _Guinea_'s shore— Some few, the voluntary woe embrace, Sore from false friends, or undeserv'd disgrace; Subdu'd by pow'r, by fell misfortune worn, Or by the pangs of hopeless passion torn; Weary of griefs no patience can endure, They seek the _Lethe_ of a mortal cure. Such, _Russel_—lov'd companion, faithful friend! Such were thy motives, such thy purpos'd end. Thy harmless spirit—gentlest of thy kind, Was ne'er to savage cruelty inclin'd. Long might rejoicing _Afric_ see her sons Crowd freedom's plains, beneath their native thrones; E're thy meek hand—in virtue only brave, Had fix'd one fetter on the prostrate slave!