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Dissolv'd in tears, they round their parents hung;
And their young arms in early sorrows wrung.
Pierc'd with such grief, the bleeding youths, in vain,
Fly back, for refuge, to their sires again ;
Complain with moving tears, and moving cries,
And beg for aid with eloquence of eyes.
Lost, to the soft endearing ties of life,

The social names of daughter, parent, wife,
The frantic mother hears the well-known sound....
"Can no redress, she cries to heav'n, be found?
Can mortals give or feel a deeper wound?
Ye savage Christians! now your rage is spent ;
Your malice can no greater pains invent.
Parental tenderness, and kindred blood!
Your force till now I little understood.
Oh that the base tyrannic Christian band,
Had never touch'd my dear paternal land,
Oh, that I were some monster of the wood;
Or bird by land, or fish that swims the flood!
Unthoughtful then my sorrows I could bear;
Nor sin, nor groan, nor weep, nor sigh, nor fear.
While thus she speaks, she views the golden light,
And purple skies; but sickens at the sight.
Her grief approximating to despair,

Thrice from her head she tore the sable hair,
Thrice beat her breast with unexampled fear;
Then looking up with streaming eyes, she cries,
Thus, sobbing, to the Monarch of the skies:
"Immortal Sire, good, gracious, and divine,
In might supreme, in majesty sublime;
Shall Christians, cruel Christians, still prevail?
And shall thy promise to thy creatures fail?
And shall they, shall they still increase our woe?
And dye our lands with purple as they go?


Rise in thy wrath, almighty Maker, rise;
Behold our grievous wrongs with gracious eyes.
Oh, save my valiant friends, the bold and brave,
Their wives abus'd, their bleeding infants save.
Oh! see them force the injur'd maid away,
With sons, sires, wives, an undistinguish'd prey :
While wives and daughters serve promiscuous lust,
Their sires and husbands bite the bloody dust.

To count our wrongs demands ten thousand tongues,
An angel's voice, and adamantine lungs.

While thus she prays, weeps, groans, complains in vain,
The ruffians whip her from the place again.
Thus the sweet nightingale scar'd from her nest,
By cruel boys, with grief and care oppress'd;
She hovers round and round the much lov'd place,
And strives, but strives in vain to save her race.
With melancholy notes she fills the plains,
And with melodious harmony complains;
And tells the cruel, listless boys her pains.
They heave round stones, that labor up the skies,
To kill the mother as the mother flies.

Lo, tyrants thus administer relief,

Add wrong to wrong, and wretchedness to grief.
And oft, alas! with hypocritic air,

Condemn the crimes in which they deeply share.
Hear this, ye tyrants, distant nations, hear,
And learn the judgments of high heav'n to fear.

Yes, ages yet unborn hereby shall see,

Their predecessors' guilt and tyranny.


These Christians thirst for gold; while fierce in arms,
Their cruel breasts no tender pity warms.

And if the heathens should one virtuous find,
Name the slave-traders; they will curse the kind.
Deceitful gold! how high will Christians rise

In latent guilt, to gain the glitt❜ring prize?
Hence sacred faith, and public trust are sold,
And villains barter Adam's sons for gold.
Hence tyrants rule, the scorn of honest fame,
And Virtue's chang'd to monumental shame.
Shall the oppressed race of human kind,
From heav'n above, nor earth, no justice find?
Can bloody carnage please Jehovah's sight?
Or flaming war reflect a grateful light?
No mortal woe impartial heav'n relieves,
Peace, joy, life, love, relenting mercy gives.
Impell❜d by love, he promis'd to the poor,
To hear their pray'rs, nor drive from mercy's door.
Compell'd by truth he will his word fulfil,

Save the oppress'd, and do his sov'reign will.
He will redress his creature's wrongs, tho' late;
Thus has he spoke; and what he spake, is fate:
And then the tyrants of mankind shall bend,
Their honours vanish, and their glories end.
For come it will, that dreadful day replete,
With penal sanctions, and tremendous fate.
Then despots, tho' on golden thrones, will bleed,
And ruffians too, to mighty woes decreed.
Whilst tyrants punish with an iron rod,

Oppress, destroy....their dreadful scourge is God.
He views their guilt with flaming eyes around,
That flash with rage, with mighty rage profound.
And ev❜n the sons of freedom prove unjust,
Alike in cruelty, alike in lust !

Them shall the muse to infamy consign,
Despis'd, abhorr'd; the theme of tragic rhyme.
Those barb'rous villains spread consuming death,
The name of freedom withers at their breath.
Virtue disrob'd, infernal vice aspires,

And weeping liberty and truth retires;
Laurels that should fair Virtue deck alone,
To systematic hypocrites are thrown;

Their nature, and their nation they disgrace,
And stamp with sable signatures their race.
Republicans will suffer in their shame,
And e'en the best that bears the noble name.
A hypocrite, when once to sin inclin❜d,

All hell cannot produce so fierce a fiend.
Wide o'er the world their character has spread ;
Disgrac'd their country, and disgrac'd the dead,
Who fought for freedom, and for freedom bled.
Their hypocritic villainy proclaim,

Oh, sing their guilt, my muse....inglorious fame!
For yet more woes their tragic acts inspire,
T'attune with energetic verse the mournful lyre.


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