On the same sod, where (Rapine’s helpless prey,) The plumed Indian, pin’d his life away, Enslav’d, degraded, doom’d to vile employ, Deploring still t… - Elizabeth Benger

Devoted victim of the crimes accurst,
By hatred cherish’d, and by av’rice nurs'd;
Crimes that with Europe’s sordid sons began,
The rude barbarian’s gift from polished man.

To him the heavens a fearful aspect wear,
Strange are the accents murmur’d in his ear.
He steals no balm from pity’s lenient breath
Hope sheds no gleam, but through the vale of death:
An alien, far from nature’s bosom cast,
He broods on wrongs, the present and the past;
And asks what vengeance shall the wretches wait,
Who bade him mourn within the stranger’s gate.

All human archives in this truth accord,
That feeble man is Ruin’s mighty lord;
States rise and fall as ages roll away,
But vice survives, the passions ne’er decay;
New tyrants start, where conquest once has been,
The drama constant, tho’ transposed the scene.