NO more let Europe’s offspring boast
Superior sense and worth;
Or fancy virtue is attach’d
To any spot of earth;
Nor e’er suppose that Carib’s dark,
And Ebon’s sons don’t know
A bright illuminating ray,
A pure, a heaven form’d glow;
For Quashey’s simple tale will show
A lesson to mankind;
And prove a sable skin is not
Connected with the mind.
Quashey possess’d exterior charms,
And native, untaught grace;
For Porto Rico’s sons were all
Enamour’d with her face.
A speaking eye–a slender form–
A sensative , soft pride,
Made her ador’d by Porto’s youths,
Who sought her for their bride.
Yet was not Quashey easy won,
Although her tender heart
Felt the full force of potent love,
And knew its joys and smarts !
And Vincent was a warlike youth,
Well he pursu’d the chase;
His form , true manliness display’d,
Expression mark’d his face.
Long did he woo; at length he bore
The valued prize away;
And tenderness each hour increas’d,
From the propitious day.
So fondly were their hearts attach’d,
So true, so firm their loves,
That Porto Rico’s sons compar’d
This couple to two doves!
But, sad and shocking to relate,
This fond domestic pair
Were torn asunder by a force,
Which might with wolves compare;
For slav’ry, with its ruffian band,
Seiz’d the ill-fated youth;
And though he pleaded wedded love
With tenderness and truth,
Yet unaffected by those ties,
They forc’d him from the fair;
And the distracted Quashey stood
An emblem of despair!
Frantic she saw him forc’d on board
A vessel that lay near;
A shriek of horror rent the air,
Yet shed she not a tear!
To St. Domingo’s fruitful isle
The hapless youth they bore;
And three long days was Quashey stretch’d
Upon the senseless shore!
At length a floating bark she spied,
With whited sails unfurl’d;
Transported, she a signal made,
‘Twas handkerchief empearl’d
With crystal drops, which from her eye
The snowy lawn had steep’d;
And as she rais’d it high in air,
Again the fair-one weep’d.
“Convey me to my love!” she cried;
“In pity to my prayer,
Oh, take me to Domingo’s isle,
For my belov’d is there!”
The vessel was completely stow’d,
Few passengers had room
E’en for the luggage they requir’d,
Each birth was like a tomb,
So close, so narrow, and confin’d;
The captain cool declar’d,
That Quashey could not be receiv’d,
Or any space be spar’d.
“I’ll sleep upon the deck,” she cried;
“No food this form requires;
For grief destroys the appetite,
And quenches such desires.
“Yet oh! in pity hear my prayer;
In mercy give assent;
If e’er the pangs of love you knew,
Then would your heart relent!
“Convey me to Domingo’s shores,
I’ll pray for prosp’rous gales!”
Yet still the captain stood unmov’d,
The vessel swiftly sails.
Senseless she dropp’d upon the sands;
The sight appall’d the breast
Of Edward, who had vainly urg’d
Poor Quashey’s fond request.
“Can you behold that hapless girl,”
Said he, “with heart unmov’d !
On Albion’s shores is there no one
Whom you have fondly lov’d?
“Think then–oh! but one moment think,
If such should be her fate,
How would you feel, to see that fair
Reduc’d to such a state?
“Willing my birth I will resign,
In my cot she shall lay;
Order the men to loose the boat,
And fetch the fair away.”
Humanity then touch’d a breast
Unus’d to pity’s charms;
Two sailors sprang on board the boat,
And bore her in their arms.
By aid of volatiles restor’d,
Her heart responsive beat,
To Gratitude’s impressive voice;
And falling at the feet
Of Edward–she implor’d her gods
His valu’d life to spare;
Beseeching them, in language sweet,
To take him to their care.
Short was the passage to the isle;
A prosp’rous gale soon bore
Quashey to her beloved’s arms,
On St. Domingo’s shore.
The tender tale was soon disclos’d,
It touch’d each feeling heart;
And Vincent’s humane master vow’d
They never more should part.
Freedom to Vincent was proclaim’d
Within a trifling space;
But Quashey wish’d her thanks to breathe
Before she left the place,
To her preserver–as she call’d
The being who procur’d
A passage to Domingo’s isle,
And all her sorrows cured.
Yet ah! poor Edward was reduc’d
To such a dreadful state;
The voice of gratitude was lost,
But how shall I relate
The ravage which that dreadful foe
The yellow fever made?
Twelve brother officers had then
The debt of nature paid;
And Edward was pronounc’d past cure,
Senseless and parch’d he lay ,
Without one friend to comfort him,
Or kind attention pay!
Though pestilence breath’d round the spot,
Quashey its wrath defied;
For gratitude inspir’d her breast,
“And oh, my love,” she cried,
“Help me to move this feeble form
Into a purer air;
This is the man who sav’d thy wife
From mis’ry and despair!”
Then laden with Distemper’s load,
They mov’d it near the sea;
And tenderly repos’d the weight
Under a plantain tree.
An acid napkin was procur’d,
And round his temples bound;
Then searching Nature’s bounteous store,
Some healing drugs they found.
These were prepar’d without delay,
And like the Mecca balm,
They check’d the burning fever’s rage,
And made the pulse beat calm.
Soon did intelligence return,
Soon Reason gain’d her seat;
Tears stream’d from grateful Quashey’s eyes,
Tears exquisitely sweet.
The languid Edward gaz’d around;
“Where am I?” he exclaims;
A plantain-tree o’ershadow’d him,
Fann’d by refreshing gales.
Extatic then was Quashey’s joy,
Her anxious cares had prov’d
The means of saving Edward’s life,
Whom she rever’d and lov’d .
“Quashey, receive my grateful thanks,”
Said the still languid youth;
“Existence to your care I owe ,
And by my sacred truth,
The gratitude this bosom feels
Shall be in deeds repaid;
And half the fortune I possess
Shall at your feet be laid.”
Talk not to me of gratitude;”
Said Quashey, in reply;
“Through you my reason was preserv’d,
And could I see you die,
“Without endeavouring to restore
Your dearly valued health?
Within this breast I feel reward ,
Then say no more of wealth:
“Vincent will for his Quashey work;
Daily his toils I’ll share;
Farewell, my friend–may the gods take
You under their kind care!”
Thus saying, she embrac’d his hand,
And bath’d it with a tear;
Then fled like arrow from a bow,
Or hare impress’d with fear.
Who, let me ask, will now declare
That sable tint of skin
Can the mind’s feelings ere display,
Or prove the worth within.
(Mary Hopkins Pilkington)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, God Poems, Life Poems, Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Nature Poems, Faces Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Youth Poems, Heaven PoemsBased on Keywords: reduc, plantain, valu, endeavouring, whited, procur, carib, domingo, porto, rico, then-oh