'Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep

    As undisturb'd as Justice! but no more

    The wretched Slave, as on his native shore,

  Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep!

  Tho' thro' the toil and anguish of the day

    No tear escap'd him, not one suffering groan

    Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone

  In bitterness; thinking that far away

  Tho' the gay negroes join the midnight song,

    Tho' merriment resounds on Niger's shore,

  She whom he loves far from the chearful throng

    Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door

  With dim grown eye, silent and woe-begone,

    And weeps for him who will return no more.