Phillis Wheatley

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

Mneme begin
Inspire, ye sacred nine,
Your vent'rous Afric in her great design
Mneme, immortal pow'r,

Apollo's wrath to man the dreadful
Of ills innum'rous, tuneful goddess, sing
Thou who did'st first th' ideal pencil give,
And taught'st the painter in his works to live,

Let amicitia in her ample
Extend her notes to a Celestial
Benevolent far more divinely
Amor like me doth triumph at the

From dark abodes to fair etherial
Th' enraptur'd innocent has wing'd her flight;
On the kind bosom of eternal
She finds unknown beatitude above

Say, heav'nly muse, what king or mighty God,
That moves sublime from Idumea's road
In Bosrah's dies, with martial glories join'd,
His purple vesture waves upon the wind

Did Fear and Danger so perplex your Mind,
As made you fearful of the Whistling Wind
Was it not Boreas knit his angry
Against you

Must Ethiopians be employ'd for you
Much I rejoice if any good I do
I ask O unbeleiver,
Satan's

On Mrs
W——-'s Voyage to England
I
While raging tempests shake the shore,

New England first a wilderness was
Till for a continent 'twas destin'd
From feild to feild the savage monsters runE'r yet Brittania had her work
Thy Power,

EL,
Chap
xvii
Ye martial pow'rs, and all ye tuneful nine,

'Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to
That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew