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Rh O mother! I've no one to love me—no heart Can bear like thy own in my sorrows a part; No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind! Oh! none like a mother can cherish the blind!

Poor blind one! no mother thy wailing can hear, No mother can hasten to banish thy fear; For the slave-owner drives her, o'er mountain and wild, And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child! Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal The anguish that none but a mother can feel, When man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God?

Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone, She hears in her anguish his piteous moan, As he eagerly listens—but listens in vain, To catch the loved tones of his mother again! The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall, And his gain tike a mildew shall blight and destroy, Who hath tom from his mother the little blind boy."

The thought that man can so debase himself as to treat a fellow-creature as here represented, is enough, to cause one to blush at the idea that such men are members of a civilised and Christian nation.

Nothing was more grievous to the sensitive feelings of William, than seeing the separation of families by the slave-trader: husbands taken from their wives, and mothers from their children, without the least appearance of feeling on the part of those who separated them. While at New Orleans, on one occasion, Willing saw a slave murdered. The