Page:Memoir and poems of Phillis Wheatley, a native African and a slave.djvu/117

Rh Virtue's rewards can mortal pencil paint?

No—all descriptive arts and eloquence are faint;

Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse

To heavenly tidings from the Afric Muse.

As soon may change thy laws, eternal Fate,

As the saint miss the glories I relate;

Or her Benevolence forgotten lie,

Which wiped the trickling tear from Misery's eye.

Whene'er the adverse winds were known to blow,

When loss to loss ensued, and woe to woe,

Calm and serene, beneath her father's hand,

She sat resigned to the divine command.

No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore,

And let us hear the mournful sigh no more;

Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye,

Be all thy future moments crowned with joy!

Nor let thy wishes be to earth confined,

But, soaring high, pursue the unbodied mind.

Forgive the Muse, forgive the adventurous lays,

That faiu thy soul to heavenly scenes would ruise.