Page:Memoir and poems of Phillis Wheatley, a native African and a slave.djvu/79

Rh "Vain were their hopes to put the God to flight,

"Chain us to hell, and bar the gates of light."

She spoke, and turned from mortal scenes her eyes,

Which beamed celestial radiance o'er the skies.

Then thou, dear man, no more with grief retire,

Let grief no longer damp devotion's fire,

But rise sublime, to equal bliss aspire.

Thy sighs no more be wafted by the wind,

No more complain, but be to heaven resigned.

"I was thine to unfold the oracles divine,

To soothe our woes, the task was also thine;

Now sorrow is incumbent on thy heart,

Permit the Muse a cordial to impart;

Who can to thee their tenderest tears refuse?

To dry thy tears, how longs the heavenly muse!

my lays, ye ever honored Nine,

Assist my labors, and my strains refine;

In smoothest numbers pour the notes along.

For bright Aurora now demands my song.

Aurora hail! and all the thousand dies

Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies 7