THE
SLAVE TRADE.
AH, think how deſolate his ſtate,
How he the chearful light muſt hate;
Whom ſever'd from his native ſoil,
The morning takes to fruitleſs toil;
To labours hope ſhall never cheer,
Or fond domeſtic joy endear;
Poor wretch o'er whoſe deſpairing eyes,
His cheriſh'd home ſhall never riſe!
Condemn'd, ſevere extreme, to live
When all is fled that life can give!
But ah! the bleſſings valued moſt
By human minds, are bleſſings loſt!
Unlike the objects of the eye,
Enlarging as we bring them nigh;
Our joys at diſtance ſtrike the breaſt,
And ſeem diminiſh'd when poſſeſt.
Helen Maria Williams,
An Account of a Voyage to Africa, to
Trade for Slaves.
Proceedings during the Voyage.
ON the arrival of the ſhips at Bonny and New Calabar, they unbend the ſails, ſtrike the yards and topmaſts, and
