[Page 1]

SLAVERY.

A POEM.

BY MARIA FALCONAR.

HAIL, soft Philanthropy, to thee I sing
Blest source, whence all our social pleasures spring;
When every Muse bends prostrate at thy shrine,
And tunes her lyre to harmony divine;
Shall I attempt to join the favour'd throng,
And pay the tribute of an artless song? 
Bright as the beams of glory round you shine,
Glance not contempt, ye minions of the nine;
Bold as I soar, yet never think I came,
A rival Muse, to grasp the wreath of fame;
Though oft a wand'rer through the lone retreats
Of your Parnassus, stor'd with balmy sweets;
Where flow'rs and blossoms, of the lovliest hue,
In lively bloom and vary'd fragrance grew;
Their winning beauties gave but short delight,
Borne by superior genius from my sight;
[Page 2]17  Yet may my humble blossom find a place
Amidst the wreath each bard has twin'd to grace
The brow of sympathy, for, oft there grows,
On the same spot, the daisy and the rose. 
Nor may the rose disdain the modest flow'r
That gives her beauties more distinguish'd pow'r. 
What though no hand, in honour of my lay,
Shall bind my temples with Parnassian bay;
Or fancy raise no bright poetic dream;
Yet soft humanity inspires my theme. 
All bounteous heav'n, that bless'd my native isle
With gentle Liberty's enchanting smile,
Gave me a heart, too oft indeed to blame,
Yet fraught with feelings none should blush to name. 
Long in that heart may mild compassion reign,
Compassion, form'd to weep for others pain;
The throb of anguish ever swell my breast,
When mis'ry sinks, by tyranny oppress'd. 
May one dire fiend far from my wishes stray,
No baneful av'rice e'er my actions sway;
[Page 3]37  That vile assassin, stain'd with num'rous crimes,
Who bears the shaft of death to distant climes;
Whose flinty breast, unknown to social love,
No tears, no pray'rs, no suff'rings, e'er can move. 
When he appears, behold affection bleed! 
Joy flies the scene and lasting pangs succeed. 
And shall Britannia, whose maternal arms
Clasp every virtue, dress'd in heavenly charms;
Shall she, when rival realms revere her name,
She, pride of nations and the boast of fame,
Welcome a guest so vile, and seek to gain
New treasures from the guiltless suff'rer's pain? 
When justice, fir'd by distant scenes explor'd,
High o'er the foes of Asia waves her sword? 
To wounded Africa's unhappy shore,
No pow'r the violated rights restore? 
Sad on her plains the plunder'd wretches bend,
To weep a child, a parent, or a friend;
For, all that Britons feel, their souls inspire,
The same affection and the same desire;
[Page 4]57  The mournful dame, with equal frenzy, wild,
Laments the hapless fortune of her child,
Torn from her arms, snatch'd from his native soil,
To sad captivity and painful toil! 
In vain she weeps, in vain she swells to rage,
The wretch still suffers what her fears presage. 
These scenes of woe, ye son's of av'rice, view,
These sorrows fill the cup of mirth for you;
Ah! think, for you, what blessings nature pours,
Fames courts your grasp, and fortune swells your stores;
Whilst art and luxury their charms employ
To dress your hours in fascinating joy;
While round your steps seducing syrens sing,
Ah! think, whence do these fatal pleasures spring! 
Survey the wretch whose toil creates your joy,
No chearful hopes his gloomy mind employ;
If he reflects what hours in sadness flew,
The next as sadly opens to his view;
Each sun, that rises, rises but to shed
Fresh streams of sorrow on his hapless head;
[Page 5]77  In vain o'er him revolving seasons roll,
They bring no peace to his aflicted soul! 
Say, does the gallant soldier waste his breath
Amid the horrors of triumphant death? 
Deep pierc'd with wounds, does he the martial band
Inspire with ardour for their native land? 
Fearless of perils, that around him wait,
He braves the dangers of impending fate;
Yet honours to reward his toil appear,
And loud applause salutes his raptur'd ear;
Millions to him their grateful thanks avow,
And conquest twines her laurel round his brow. 
Not thus the slave; alas! no honours bloom
To soothe the constant rigour of his doom;
Ambition unrestrain'd that noble flame
That guides the hero to the heights of fame,
The sole inspirer and the glorious spring
Of all that record boasts, or poets sing;
Ambition, ever anxious to aspire,
Burns in his breast a fierce, but hopeless, fire;
[Page 6]97  With fainting heart he sees the morning smile,
And goes, reluctant, to his wonted toil;
His weaken'd spirits still invite repose,
And gloomy apathy his mind o'erflows. 
Ye foes of heav'n, and Britain's dire disgrace,
Unjust opressors of an injur'd race,
Tell us, who form'd the slave you thus deride,
The sport of insult, indolence, and pride? 
With mis'ry should he sink so meanly down,
Adore your smile, and tremble when you frown;
At your command with servile swiftness fly,
And mark with dread the language of your eye? 
Tell, why such baleful tyranny should reign,
Caprice empow'ring to distribute pain? 
Yet, you will say, surrounding foes combine
To catch th'advantages that we decline;
But, sure, that impious land must deeply bleed,
And dark dishonour all its fame succeed;
Then let them hence the guilty commerce bear,
And what heav'n sanctions be Britannia's care. 

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Once Superstition, in a fatal hour,
O'er Europe rais'd the sceptre of her power;
She reign'd triumphant minister of death,
And peace and pleasure faded in her breath;
Deep in monastic solitude entomb'd,
The bud of beauty wither'd ere it bloom'd;
The brilliant eye, where love had fought to dwell,
Shed all its lustre o'er the cloister'd cell;
The smiling lip, of bright vermillion dye,
Grew pale, and quiver'd with the passing sigh;
The music floating from each tuneful tongue,
With midnight hymns the Gothic arches rung. 
Here, through reflection's eye, the pensive mind
Sought with regret for objects far behind;
And fond remembrance, as she heav'd a sigh,
Drew back the soul just soaring to the sky;
Save where misguided zeal in peace withdrew,
From each bright pleasure, each enchanting view. 
The still retreat pale Melancholy sought,
And found each object suited to her thought;
[Page 8]137  Soft Sensibility might here deplore,
And feel the shaft of falsehood wound no more;
The sport of fortune, long to comfort lost,
With hope far banish'd, expectation cross'd;
Explor'd these scenes to weep for anguish past,
Where the swell'd throbbing heart has burst at last. 
Th'Eternal from the throne of grace survey'd,
With eye averse, the sacrifice they made;
No forc'd devotion found acceptance there,
No grateful incense issu'd from her pray'r. 
Thus Superstition could not fix her sway
In heav'n, but look'd on earth to seize her prey;
And yet, unsated with domestic pain,
Sought to extend the terrors of her reign. 
She saw, as on the fatal heights she stood,
Her impious altars drench'd in guiltless blood;
Where fortitude with candid virtue join'd,
And sought by sacred truths to save mankind;
There she bestow'd her persecutions dire,
And close pursu'd with unrelenting ire;
[Page 9]157  Nor ceas'd to scourge them with her vengeful rod,
Till each, a martyr'd saint, embrac'd his God. 
But when, to grace the world, Religion shone,
In Britain first she deign'd to fix her throne;
Freedom and Charity, at her command,
Chas'd Superstition from the drooping land;
Despair, as public discourd ceas'd to sting,
Beat the retiring gloom with raven wing;
In vain Enthusiasm disdain'd to fly,
And roll'd the livid light'ning of her eye;
In vain with phrenzy wild her fetters broke,
And threaten'd horrid vengeance as she spoke;
Religion bound her with her magic chain,
And fix'd a period to the monster's reign;
Yet, last of all, withdrew a blacker foe
Than ever issu'd from the realms below;
Fraudful Hypocrisy, in whom was seen
An aspect ever gentle and serene;
Her tongue was fraught with many an artful lie,
Dissembled sanctity illum'd her eye;
[Page 10]177  She wore the spotless robe of heav'nly truth,
To cheat credulity and artless youth;
Soft on her smiling lip dire falsehood hung,
And music grac'd the poison of her tongue. 
But soon the fell contention rag'd no more,
And liberty the victors garland wore:
Yet, as the conquering goddess soar'd to life,
She mourn'd the ravage of internal strife. 
So when some furious tempest racks the night,
To break her solemn gloom with horrid light,
Morn smiles to show the blasted plants and flow'rs,
Or torn trees mingling with the shatter'd tow'rs. 
Thus, from the wreck of civil broils, arose
The dread and envy of insulting foes;
Thus rose the honours of Britannia's name;
Her naval splendour and her martial fame. 
There hoary time on rapid wing might view
Immortal glories ripen as he flew;
The gems of genius there adorn the mind,
By science polish'd, and by taste refin'd;
[Page 11]197  There in the beams of liberty alone,
Appears the soften'd splendour of a throne. 
Nor could my Muse, did she to rapture spring,
The bright succession of those glories sing. 
In other lands if public virtue glows,
From Britain first the great example flows;
There springs the plant, there blooms, through endless time,
The weak exotic of another clime;
The Britons' gen'rous valour never fought
To gain a conquest with oppressions fraught;
They own the spirit to be tryly brave,
The pow'r to conquer and the will to save;
They boast the sympathy to soften woe,
To form the faithful friend and gen'rous foe. 
View from that happy shore a nymph arise,
Bright as the blushes of autumnal skies;
She comes, angelic Freedom, with her train,
To tear from Afric's sons the galling chain;
[Page 12]215  See at her feet each generous Briton kneels,
Each views your inj'ries and your anguish feels;
Neglect long shewn, your suff'rings seeks to blame,
And, seeking, blushes for his country's fame. 
Amidst the glories of an age refin'd,
The feeling heart, the sympathising mind,
With fond attention o'er your sorrows pause,
And join with ardour in the glorious cause. 
Friends of philanthropy, to you be giv'n
The greatest bounties of indulgent heav'n;
Peace o'er your slumbers ever stretch her wing,
And 'neath your feet eternal blessings spring;
For, angels teach celestial joys to flow
On hearts where sympathy delights to glow;
That peace divine, that can the soul sustain,
When keen affliction aims the shaft of pain,
That Pow'r from life's dark danger form'd to save,
And lift the eye of hope beyond the grave. 
Goddess of Freedom, hear thy suppliant's pray'r,
And haste to snatch the captive from despair;
[Page 13]235  Before his lighten'd steps thy pleasures strew,
And place thy train of virtues in his view;
Bid his unfetter'd inclination stray,
Where blooming industry extends her sway;
Where indolence herself was oft beguil'd,
By promis'd gain, to tread the rugged wild;
Rouse ev'ry passion, wake each fond desire,
And teach his wishes greatly to aspire;
Instruct him, goddess, on his native plain,
To sing the glories of a George's reign;
Tell him, at his command you sought their shore,
Their wrongs to pity, and their rights restore;
Through the blue concave thy white flag unfurl'd,
And arm thy bands to prop a sinking world. 

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Title (in Source Edition): SLAVERY. A POEM.

Author: Maria Falconar

Themes:

Genres: heroic couplet; narrative verse

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Source edition

Falconar, Maria, b. 1771? Falconar, Harriet, b. 1774? Poems on Slavery. London: Printed for Messrs. EGERTONS, Charing-Cross; Mr. MURRAY, Temple-Bar; and Mr. J. JOHNSON, No. 72, St. Paul's Church-yard M.DCC.LXXXVIII, 1788, pp. 1-13. (ESTC T61945)

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Typography, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation have been cautiously modernized. The source of the text is given and all significant editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. This ECPA text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

SLAVERY.

A POEM.

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SLAVERY.

A POEM.

Text

About this text

Source edition

Editorial principles

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Syntactic layer

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