Page:Memoir and poems of Phillis Wheatley, a native African and a slave.djvu/157

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When on life's ocean first I spread my sail, I then implored a mild auspicious gale; And from the slippery strand I took my flight, And sought the peaceful haven of delight.

Tyrranic storms arose upon my soul, And dreadful did their mad'ning thunders roll; The pensive muse was shaken from her sphere, And hope, it vanished in the clouds of fear.

At length a golden sun broke through the gloom, And from his smiles arose a sweet perfume— A calm ensued, and birds began to sing, And lo! the sacred muse resumed her wing.

With frantic joy she chaunted as she flew, And kiss'd the clement hand that bore her through; Her envious foes did from her sight retreat, Or prostrate fall beneath her burning feet.

'T was like a proselyte, allied to Heaven— Or rising spirits' boast of sins forgiven, Whose shout dissolves the adamant away, Whose melting voice the stubborn rocks obey.