Toll for the brave — The brave! that are no more; All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore! - William Cowper

His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

As dreadful as the Manichean god, Adored through fear, strong only to destroy.

Forced from home and all its pleasures Afric's coast I left forlorn, To increase a stranger's treasures O'er the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold; But, though slave they have enrolled me, Minds are never to be sold.