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Robert Southey - Poems On The Slave Trade - Sonnet IRobert Southey - Poems On The Slave Trade - Sonnet I
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Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain  Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood?  For ever must your Nigers tainted flood Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain? Hold your mad hands! what daemon prompts to rear  The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore  Can hell-sprung Glory claim the feast of gore, With laurels water`d by the widow`s tear Wreathing his helmet crown? lift high the spear!  And like the desolating whirlwinds sweep,  Plunge ye yon bark of anguish in the deep; For the pale fiend, cold-hearted Commerce there Breathes his gold-gender`d pestilence afar, And calls to share the prey his kindred Daemon War.
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