--Modern Slavery--

ARM'D with thy sad last gift—the pow'r to die,

Thy shafts, stern fortune, now I can defy;

Thy dreadful mercy points at length the shore,

Where all is peace, and men are slaves no more;

~

This weapon, ev'n in chains, the brave can wield,

And vanquish'd, quit triumphantly the field;

Beneath such wrongs let pallid MEN's live,

Such they can perpetrate, and may forgive.

~
Yet while I tread that gulph's tremendous brink,

Where nature shudders, and where beings sink,

~

Ere yet this hand a life of torment close,

And end by one determin'd stroke my woes,

Is there a fond regret, which moves my mind

To pause, and cast a ling'ring look behind?

~

O my lov'd bride! For I have call'd thee mine,

Dearer than life, whom I with life resign,

For thee ev'n here this faithful heart shall glow,

A pang shall rend me, and a tear shall flow.

~

How shall I soothe thy grief, since fate denies

Thy pious duties to my closing eyes?

I cannot clasp thee in a last embrace,

Nor gaze in silent anguish on thy face;

~

I cannot raise these fetter'd arms for thee,

To ask that mercy heav'n denies to me;

Yet let thy tender breast my sorrows share,

Bleed for my wounds, and feel my deep despair.

~

Yet let thy tears bedew a wretch's grave,

Whom fate forbade thy tenderness to save.

Receive these sighs—to thee my soul I breathe;

Fond love in dying groans is all I can bequeathe.

~
~~London: W. Flexney, 1775~~

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-http://www.brycchancarey.com/slavery/dying.htm