Page 4 of EBB's manuscript of "The African."
Accession #: EBB MSS, D0015.1
Transcription:
Oh no! he is not quite alone,
For there is one who, at his side,
Young, in the glow of beauty’s pride,
Stills the low convulsive groan,
The falling tear, the deep drawn sigh,
And inward throb of agony!
As the pure watr’y moon beams, thro’ broken clouds gleaming
Gild the lowering sky, with her soft ray of light
So Affa’s mild Eye, in [illegible] veiled radiance beaming,
Glads the soul of that Chief, with the throb of delight
Loose to the wind her flowing vest,
Her arms were folded on her breast, –
Meekly on the ground reclining,
At that savage chieftains feet,
With eyes upraised, in fond entreat,
Thro’ lucid tear drops [flowing] shining, –
She gazed upon his manly brow
And marked the agony, that played
Upon his maddening features now,
And cast upon his form a shade
Of passions, which convulsive tore
His bursting soul, and scorned to cease
Till life itself shall be no more,
And leave that haughty clay in peace – !
Pride resolute, and rage was there –
Revenge’s murkiest gloom, & comfortless despair.
The young moon shone on Affa’s face
Which half upturned to meet his eye
With winning softness, timid grace,
Gazed on his dark brow wistfully –
Till dimmed by grief, she turned away
To hide the agonizing tear.