'Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep br As undisturb'd as Justice! but no more br The wretched Slave, as on his native shore, br Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep! br Tho' thro' the toil and anguish of the day br No tear escap'd him, not one suffering groan br Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone br In bitterness; thinking that far away br Tho' the gay negroes join the midnight song, br Tho' merriment resounds on Niger's shore, br She whom he loves far from the chearful throng br Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door br With dim grown eye, silent and woe-begone, br And weeps for him who will return no more.