“Does not the cheek which vaunts the roseate hue
“Oft blush for crimes, that Ethiops never knew?
XI.
“Behold! the angry waves conspire
“To check the barb’rous toil!
“While wounded Nature’s vengeful ire—
“Roars, round this trembling Isle!
“And hark! her voice re-echoes in the wind—
“Man was not form’d by Heav’n, to trample on his kind!
XII.