Address to W. Wilberforce, Esq. M. P

To thee, much-honour'd WILBERFORCE, A stranger-Muse her tribute pays, And aims thy merits to record In weak, but well-directed praise.

To thee, of right, the Tale belongs, Whose pitying heart partakes the pain Of wretches, who, in distant lands, Are gall'd with Slav'ry's rankling chain.

On thy persuasive choice of words, And the mild accents of thy tongue, With mute attention and delight Oft hath a British Senate hung.

To pity woes which we have felt, A partial virtue only proves, And he who serves a friend distress'd, But mitigates the heart he loves;

But who compassionates the fate Of suff'rers, whom he ne'er hath known; This universal love displays, This, WILBERFORCE, is all thine own.

Oh! had I but the pow'r of verse, Might with a MASON's talents vie, Thy firm, disinterested zeal, Oh! MISERY's FRIEND, should never die!