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Her's is warm Pity's sacred glow;
From all her stores, she bears a part,
And bids the spring of Hope reflow,
That languish'd in the fainting heart.
From all her stores, she bears a part,
And bids the spring of Hope reflow,
That languish'd in the fainting heart.
"What though so pale his haggard face,
So sunk and sad his looks," she cries;
"And far unlike our nobler race,
With crisped locks and rolling eyes;
Yet Misery marks him of our kind,
We see him lost, alone, afraid;
And pangs of body, griefs in mind,
Pronounce him Man, and ask our aid."
So sunk and sad his looks," she cries;
"And far unlike our nobler race,
With crisped locks and rolling eyes;
Yet Misery marks him of our kind,
We see him lost, alone, afraid;
And pangs of body, griefs in mind,
Pronounce him Man, and ask our aid."
⟨"Perhaps⟩ in some far distant shore,
⟨There⟩ are who in these forms delight;
⟨Whose⟩ milky features please them more,
Than ours of jet thus burnish'd bright;
Of such may be his weeping Wife,
Such children for their Sire may call.
And if we spare his ebbing life.
Our kindness may preserve them all."
⟨There⟩ are who in these forms delight;
⟨Whose⟩ milky features please them more,
Than ours of jet thus burnish'd bright;
Of such may be his weeping Wife,
Such children for their Sire may call.
And if we spare his ebbing life.
Our kindness may preserve them all."
Thus her compassion Woman shows,
Beneath the Line, her acts are these;
Nor the wide waste of Lapland-snows,
Can her warm flow of pity freeze:
"From some sad land the stranger comes,
Where joys, like ours, are never found;
Let's soothe him in our happy homes,
Where Freedom sits, with Plenty crown'd.
Beneath the Line, her acts are these;
Nor the wide waste of Lapland-snows,
Can her warm flow of pity freeze:
"From some sad land the stranger comes,
Where joys, like ours, are never found;
Let's soothe him in our happy homes,
Where Freedom sits, with Plenty crown'd.
