BOOK THE SECOND. High, where primevial forests shade the land, From the green turf, rear'd by no mortal hand, A sacred station lifts its fragrant seat O'er the loud stream, that murmurs at its feet, Of _Niger_, rushing thro' the fertile plains, Swell'd by the cataracts of tropic rains, Long 'ere surcharg'd his turgid flood divides, To burst on ocean in three thund'ring tides. Thither high-seated in an iv'ry car, Glittering with gold in many a shining star, By alligators drawn in dread array, _Afric_'s sad Genius bends her awful way. The spicy breezes throw their sweets around; With pealing strains the high-arch'd woods resound: The glowing nymphs surround the radiant pow'r, And duteous lead her to the regal bow'r. High, over head the airy cocoa bends, The victor palm a virid shade extends, Surrounding limes their freshness throw between And swarthy plantains gild the glowing scene. Amidst the splendours, that around her shone, Th' indignant Pow'r ascends the sylvan throne; Th' Hesperian sun, from the descent of day, Beams on her front serene a languid ray. About her sandal'd feet—a sapient band, The river-gods, in awful council stand: Immingled gold amidst their oziers gleams, Each pond'rous urn with studded lustre beams. Presiding Dryads quit their subject woods; Directing Naiads leave their silver floods, Every bright guardian of th' extended clime, Graces the solemn court with port sublime. Round the august Divan, a mournful look Bent the sad Queen—and brooding silence broke; Ire mix'd with grief convolv'd her labouring breast, While she the anxious Peers with grace address'd. Ye various rulers of th' extended shores, Where bounteous day his brightest radiance pours; On whose ripe vales the fat'ning deluge flows, Luxuriance sits, eternal summer glows; Say, can ye longer brook the savage hand, That spreads destruction o'er the wasted land? Can ye resistless see the ruthless chain Still spread its horrors o'er th' unpeopled plain? Look over yonder main that shakes the shores, Where yon _Green-promontory's_ summit soars, The tawny sail our surging bulwark braves, Wafted by cruel winds, and treacherous waves; _Europe_'s pale sons direct the barb'rous prow, Fraught with dire stores and instruments of woe. The tainted freight, with false luxurious glares Of dang'rous hue, the splendid bait prepares; Beneath the semblance of whose dazzling store Lurks the dire barb, that taints and thins our shore.