"Dark rose the morn: the wind in every wood
Howl'd, and the meteors glancing o'er the flood
Flash'd a portentous light. Before the gale
With streaming eyes I spread my little sail:
Swift o'er the sounding waves the vessel flew,
Cliff after cliff receding from my view:
Chill ran my heart—the swelling sails I furl'd,
While yet emerging from the watery world
⎧
⎨
⎩
"On foreign shores, to poverty resign'd,
An exile, friendless and alone, I pined.
Hope and Content inspired my toils no more;
Alas! I left them on my native shore!
Stern Want around me pour'd her chilling woes,
And no faint beam, to cheer my winter, rose.
"At length, when years, with slow-revolving round,
Had half assuaged my soul's eternal wound,
And rural peace my humble efforts bless'd
With one short calm of momentary rest;
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⎨
⎩
"My term of sorrows came not: black Despair,
And lawless Force, and shrinking Fear, were there.
Woes, yet unfelt, were nigh;—fell Slavery shed
Her night of sorrows on my hapless head:
Doom'd each imperious order to fulfil,
And watch a ruthless master's various will.
Five years, exposed to unremitted pain,
I languish'd there—'till Friendship broke my chain.