STANZAS WRITTEN In a blank leaf of BURKE'S History of the West India Islands

These Indian isles, so green and gay, In summer seas by nature plac'd— Art hardly told us where they lay 'Till tyranny their charms defac'd; Ambition there her conquests made And avarice rifled every shade!

The Genius wept his sons to see By foreign arms untimely fall, And some to distant climates flee Where later ruin met them all: He saw his sylvan offspring bleed That fiercer natures might succeed.

The chief that first o'er barren waves [Columbus. To these fair islands found his way, Departing, left a race of slaves, Cortez, thy mandate to obey; And these again, if fame says true, To lord it o'er the savage crew. No more to Indian coasts confin'd, The Genius thus indulg'd his grief; While he to tears his heart resign'd With pain he saw the falling leaf; " And thus (he cry'd) our reign must end, " We, like the leaves, must now descend:

" Ah, what a change! the ambient deep " No longer hears the lover's sigh; " But wretches meet to wail and weep " The loss of their dear liberty, " Unfeeling hearts possess these isles, " Man frowns, and only Nature smiles."

Proud of these vast extended shores The haughty Spaniard calls his own, No other world may share those stores To other worlds so little known; His Cuba lies a wilderness Where slavery digs what slaves possess.

Jamaica's sweet romantic vales Invain with golden harvests teem, Her endless spring, her balmy gales Did more to me than magic seem: Yet what the god profusely gave Is here denied the toiling slave.

Fantastic joy and fond belief Through life support the galling chain, Hope's airy scenes dishearten grief And bring his native climes again: His native groves his heaven display The funeral is the happy day.

For man reduc'd to such disgrace Invain from love fair virtue fell: Distress compells him to be base, He has no motive to excel: In death alone his prospects end, The world's worst foe is his best friend. How great their praise, let truth declare, Who, smit with honour's sacred flame, Bade freedom to these coasts repair, Assum'd the slaves neglected claim, And scorning interest's sordid plan Prov'd to mankind the rights of man.

Ascending here, may this warm sun, With freedom's beams divinely clear, Throughout the world his circuit run Till these dark scenes shall disappear, And a new race, not bought or sold Springs from the ashes of the old.