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The negro, spoiled of all that nature gave, The freeborn man, thus shrunk into a slave. His passive limbs to measured tasks confined, Obey'd the impulse of another mind ; A silent, secret, terrible controul. That ruled his sinews, and repress'd his soul. Not for himself he waked at morning-light, Toil'd the long day, and sought repose at night ; His rest, his labour, pastime, strength, and health, Were only portions of a master's wealth ; His love — O, name not love, where Britons doom The fruit of love to slavery fi*om the womb.

Thus spurn'd, degraded, trampled, and oppress'd, The negro-exUe languish'd in the west, With nothing left of life but hated breath, And not a hope except the hope in death, To fly for ever from the Creole-strand, And dwell a freeman in his fathers' land.

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