See yonder slave that slowly bends this way, With years, and pain, and ceaseless toil opprest, Though no complaining words his woes betray, The eye dejected proves the heart distrest. 73 Perhaps in chains he left his native shore, Perhaps he left a helpless offspring there, Perhaps a wife, that he must see no more, Perhaps a father, who his love did share. 74 Curs'd be the ship that brought him o'er the main, And curs'd the hands who from his country tore, May she be stranded, ne'er to float again, May they be shipwreck'd on some hostile shore-- 75 O gold accurst, of every ill the spring, For thee compassion flies the darken'd mind, Reason's plain dictates no conviction bring, And passion only sways all human kind. 76 O gold accurst! for thee we madly run With murderous hearts across the briny flood, Seek foreign climes beneath a foreign sun, And there exult to shed a brother's blood. 77 But thou, who own'st this sugar-bearing soil, To whom no good the great First Cause denies, Let freeborn hands attend thy sultry toil, And fairer harvests to thy view shall rise. 78 The teeming earth shall mightier stores disclose Than ever struck thy longing eyes before, And late content shall shed a soft repose, Repose, so long a stranger at thy door. 79 Give me some clime, the favourite of the sky, Where cruel slavery never sought to rein-- But shun the theme, sad muse, and tell me why These abject trees lie scatter'd o'er the plain? 80 These isles, lest nature should have prov'd too kind, Or man have sought his happiest heaven below, Are torn with mighty winds, fierce hurricanes, Nature convuls'd in every shape of woe. 81 Nor scorn yon' lonely vale of trees so reft; There plantane groves late grew of lively green, The orange flourish'd, and the lemon bore, The genius of the isle dwelt there unseen. 82 Wild were the skies, affrighted nature groan'd As though approach'd her last decisive day, Skies blaz'd around, and bellowing winds had nigh Dislodg'd these cliffs, and tore yon' hills away. 83 O'er the wild main, dejected and afraid, The trembling pilot lash'd his helm a-lee, Or, swiftly scudding, ask'd thy potent aid, Dear pilot of the Galilëan sea. 84 Low hung the clouds, distended with the gale The clouds dark brooding wing'd their circling flight, Tremendous thunders join'd the hurricane, Daughter of chaos and eternal night. 85 And how, alas! could these fair trees withstand The wasteful madness of so fierce a blast, That storm'd along the plain, seiz'd every grove, And delug'd with a sea this mournful waste. 86 That plantane grove, where oft I fondly stray'd, Thy darts, dread Phoebus, in those glooms to shun, Is now no more a refuge or a shade, Is now with rocks and deep sands over-run. 87