Page 3 of EBB's manuscript of "The African."
Accession #: EBB MSS, D0015.1
Transcription:
One which would brook no tyranny,
One which had scorned the monarch’s might,
One which boldly would be free,
Tho’ thousands perished in the fight.
Where’s the descendant of their line,
Where Orenzebe son of kings?
Dwells he in tents where freedom springs,
Renowned for strength & might divine,
Are his brows adorned by fame,
Or circled by the diadem?
Breathes he on his native coast,
Amidst the glorious and the brave,
His people’s pride and Afric’s boast?
No, Oronzebe is a slave!
Wildly gleamed his large dark eye,
And something ever & anon
Flashed o’er his brow – but then ’twas gone –
Like the dream of time’s past by!
Black was his skin as brightest jet,
And sorrowful he seemed to be –
For no, he could not ere forget
That he had once, – had once been free!
And is there none to share his lot,
To check the ever swelling tear?
Is Oronzebe then forgot,
And left alone to linger here?