Page 2 of EBB's manuscript of "The African."
Accession #: EBB MSS, D0015.1
Transcription:
What forms beneath yon palm recline?
But, not enjoying gentle sleep,
With downcast eyes upon the deep,
They seem thus lonely, converse seeking.
One was a chief of might divine,
Of aspect dread, and eye ball speaking –
Which burns as if ‘twere made to flash
Amidst his country’s foes, and fire
Lost Afric’s soul, which might aspire
To burst her tyrants’ chain asunder,
And rising from her heaps of dead,
With freedoms strength, & freedom’s thunder
Bid war hoops rise, & weapons clash
In fury on th’ invaders head!
His hand was clenched, & o’er his brow,
Gleamed various flames of anger, darting
Like meteors flashing to, and fro –
Or as the blazing light’nings starting
From clouds so darkly terrible,
That, passing o’er the frowning sky,
They scowling roll, and seem to vie
In blackness, with the abyss of Hell! -
He owed his birth to Afric’s shore,
And royal was his lofty race,
One which had shone in battles roar,
And dared invaders face to face.