Page 9 of EBB's manuscript of "The African."
Accession #: EBB MSS, D0015.1
Transcription:
But ah! there is no way to save,
No pitying tear to thee is given,
No pure inhabitant of Heaven
Will bless thee with a grave!
Where are thy Gods? and do they now
Desert thee in the hour of need
To whom thy knees were wont to bow
For whom thy savage Fathers bled!
Where is their glory’s light?
Their brilliant fame! their haughty sway –
The honors of their little day,
Where is their might?
[Idols of wood of stone of beasts]
[They have no power to save – nor power to help alas!]
Sleep on! sleep on! poor child of sorrow
For thee no more may sols bright ray
Wake a resplendant day
Oh may no second morrow
Arise for thee! which might beguile
The earth, delighting all below,
But careless of thine anguish, smile
In mockery on thy woe!
Yet sleep not Affa! Ah no no!
I would not [illegible] thine untaught soul sever
From that fair flesh tho’ charged with woe
And those soft eyelids close for ever!
Not yet to thy untutored spirit,
Still sinful, Affa, is it given
Bright, pure, & holy to inherit
The joys of that celestial Heaven!