Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral (Selections)

By Phillis Wheatley

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POEMS

ON

VARIOUS SUBJECTS,

RELIGIOUS AND MORAL.

BY

PHILLIS WHEATLEY,

NEGRO SERVANT to Mr. JOHN WHEATLEY,

of BOSTON, in NEW ENGLAND.

LONDON:

Printed for A. BELL, Bookseller, Aldgate; and sold by

Messrs. COX and BERRY, King-Street, BOSTON.

M DCC LXXIII.

DEDICATION.

To the Right Honourable the COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON,

THE FOLLOWING
POEMS
Are most respectfully
Inscribed,
By her much obliged,
Very humble,
And devoted Servant,

Phillis Wheatley.

Boston, June 12,

1773.

PREFACE.

THE following POEMS were written originally for the Amusement of the Author, as they were the Products of her leisure Moments. She had no Intention ever to have published them; nor would they now have made their Appearance, but at the Importunity of many of her best, and most generous Friends; to whom she considers herself, as under the greatest Obligations.

        As her Attempts in Poetry are now sent into the World, it is hoped the Critic will not severely censure their Defects; and we presume they have too much Merit to be cast aside with Contempt, and worthless and trifling Effusions.

As to the Disadvantages she has laboured under, with Regard to Learning, nothing needs to be offered, as her Master's Letter in the following Page will sufficiently shew the Difficulties in the Respect she had to encounter.

The following is a Copy of a LETTER sent by the Author's Master to the Publisher

PHILLIS was brought from Africa to America, in the Year 1761, between Seven and Eight Years of Age. Without any Assistance from School Education, and by only what she was taught in the Family, she, in sixteen Months Time from her Arrival, attained the English Language, to which she was an utter Stranger before, the such a Degree, as to read any, the most difficult Parts of the Sacred Writings, to the great Astonishment of all who heard her.

As to her WRITING, her own Curiosity led her to it; and this she learnt in so short a Time, that in the Year 1765, she wrote a Letter to the Rev. Mr. OCCOM^[1], the Indian Minister, while in England.

She has a great Inclination to learn the Latin Tongue, and has made some Progress in it. This Relation is given by her Master who bought her, and with whom she now lives.

JOHN WHEATLEY.

 Boston, Nov. 14, 1772.

To the PUBLICK.

AS it has been repeatedly suggested to the Publisher, by Persons, who have seen the Manuscript, that Numbers would be ready to suspect they were not really the Writings of PHILLIS, he has procured the following Attestation, from the most respectable Characters in Boston, that none might have the least Ground for disputing their Original.

        WE whose Names are under-written, do assure the World, that the POEMS specified in the following Page^[2],  were (as we verily believe) written by PHILLIS, a young Negro Girl, who was but a few Years since, brought an uncultivated Barbarian from Africa, and has ever since been, and now is, under the Disadvantage of serving as a Slave in a Family in this Town. She has been examined by some of the best Judges, and is thought qualified to write them.

• His Excellency THOMAS HUTCHINSON, Governor,
• The Hon. ANDREW OLIVER, Lieutenant-Governor.

• The Hon. Thomas Hubbard,
• The Hon. John Erving,
• The Hon. James Pitts,
• The Hon. Harrison Gray,
• The Hon. James Bowdoin,
• John Hancock, Esq;
• Joseph Green, Esq;
• Richard Carey, Esq;
• The Rev. Charles Cheuney, D.D.
• The Rev. Mather Byles, D.D.
• The Rev. Ed. Pemberton, D.D.
• The Rev. Andrew Elliot, D.D.
• The Rev. Samuel Cooper, D.D.
• The Rev. Mr. Samuel Mather,
• The Rev. Mr. John Moorhead,
• Mr. John Wheatley, her Master.

N. B. The original Attestation, signed by the above Gentlemen, may be seen by applying to Archibald Bell, Bookseller, No. 8, Aldgate-Street.

POEMS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS

To the University of Cambridge, in New-England

WHILE an intrinsic ardor^[3] prompts to write,

The muses^[4] promise to assist my pen;

'Twas not long since I left my native shore

The land of errors, and Egyptian gloom^[5]:

Father of mercy, 'twas thy gracious hand                 [5]

Brought me in safety from those dark abodes.

Students, to you 'tis giv'n to scan the heights

Above, to traverse the ethereal space,

And mark the systems of revolving worlds.^[6]

Still more, ye sons of science ye receive                        [10]

The blissful news by messengers from heav'n,

How Jesus' blood for your redemption flows.

See him with hands out-stretcht upon the cross;

Immense compassion in his bosom glows;

He hears revilers, nor resents their scorn:                [15]

What matchless mercy in the Son of God!

When the whole human race by sin had fall'n,

He deign'd^[7] to die that they might rise again,

And share with him in the sublimest skies,

Life without death, and glory without end.                [20]

Improve your privileges while they stay,

Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears

Or good or bad report of you to heav'n.

Let sin, that baneful evil to the soul,

By you be shunn'd, nor once remit your guard;         [25]

Suppress the deadly serpent in its egg.

Ye blooming plants of human race divine,

An Ethiop^[8] tells you 'tis your greatest foe;

Its transient sweetness turns to endless pain,

And in immense perdition^[9] sinks the soul.                [30]

On being brought from AFRICA to AMERICA.

'TWAS mercy brought me from my Pagan land,

Taught my benighted soul to understand

That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:

Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.

Some view^[10] our sable race with scornful eye,                 [5]

"Their colour is a diabolic die."

Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain^[11],

May be refin'd, and join th' angelic train.

On Imagination

THY various works, imperial queen, we see,

How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp by thee!

Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand,

And all attest how potent is thine hand.

From Helicon's refulgent heights attend,                         [5]

Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:

To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,

Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.

Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,                        [10]

Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes,

Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,

And soft captivity involves the mind.

Imagination! who can sing thy force?

 Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?

Soaring through air to find the bright abode,                                [15]

Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God,

We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,

And leave the rolling universe behind:

From star to star the mental optics rove,

Measure the skies, and range the realms above.                        [20]

There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,

Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.

Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes

The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;

The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,                        [25]

And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands.

Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,

And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain;

Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,

And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd:                        [30]

Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,

And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.

Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain,

O thou the leader of the mental train:

In full perfection all thy works are wrought,                                [35]

And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought.

Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,

Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler Thou;

At thy command joy rushes on the heart,

And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.                        [40]

Fancy might now her silken pinions try

To rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high;

From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise,

Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,

While a pure stream of light o'erflows the skies.                        [45]

The monarch of the day I might behold,

And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,

But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,

Which Fancy   dresses to delight the Muse;

Winter austere forbids me to aspire,                                        [50]

And northern tempests damp the rising fire;

They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea,

Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.

Content remixed from Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/ licensed under a CC-BY 4.0 International License.