Poems by Phillis Wheatley

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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Niobe In Distress For Her Children Slain By Apollo, From Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book VI And Fro

Apollo's wrath to man the dreadful spring

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,

Inspire with glowing energy of thought,

What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote.

Muse! lend thy aid, nor let me sue in vain,

Tho' last and meanest of the rhyming train!

by Phillis Wheatley

Thoughts on the Works of Providence

Arise, my soul, on wings enraptur'd, rise

To praise the monarch of the earth and skies,

Whose goodness and benificence appear

As round its centre moves the rolling year,

Or when the morning glows with rosy charms,

Or the sun slumbers in the ocean's arms:

Of light divine be a rich portion lent

To guide my soul, and favour my intend.

by Phillis Wheatley

On Friendship

Let amicitia in her ample reign

Extend her notes to a Celestial strain

Benevolent far more divinely Bright

Amor like me doth triumph at the sight

When my thoughts in gratitude imploy

Mental Imaginations give me Joy

Now let my thoughts in Contemplation steer

The Footsteps of the Superlative fair

by Phillis Wheatley

America

New England first a wilderness was found

Till for a continent 'twas destin'd round

From feild to feild the savage monsters run

E'r yet Brittania had her work begun

Thy Power, O Liberty, makes strong the weak

And (wond'rous instinct) Ethiopians speak

Sometimes by Simile, a victory's won

A certain lady had an only son

by Phillis Wheatley

On the Death of the Rev Mr George Whitefield, 1770

AN ELEGIAC POEM, On the DEATH of that celebrated Divine, and eminent Servant of JESUS CHRIST, the late Reverend, and pious GEORGE WHITEFIELD, Chaplain to the Right Honourable the Countess of Huntingdon, &c &c. Who made his Exit from this transitory State, to dwell in the celestial Realms of Bliss, on LORD'S-DAY, 30th of September, 1770, when he was seiz'd with a Fit of the Asthma, at NEWBURY-PORT, near BOSTON, in NEW-ENGLAND. In which is a Condolatory Address to His truly noble Benefactress the worthy and pious Lady HUNTINGDON, — and the Orphan-Children in GEORGIA; who, with many Thousands, are left, by the Death of this great Man, to lament the Loss of a Father, Friend, and Benefactor.

By PHILLIS, a Servant Girl of 17 Years of Age, belonging to Mr. J. WHEATLEY, of Boston: — And has been but 9 Years in this Country from Africa.

Hail, happy saint, on thine immortal throne,

To thee complaints of grievance are unknown;

We hear no more the music of thy tongue,

Thy wonted auditories cease to throng.

Thy sermons in unequall'd accents flow'd,

And ev'ry bosom with devotion glow'd;

by Phillis Wheatley

On The Death of Mr Snider Murder'd By Richardson

In heavens eternal court it was decreed

How the first martyr for the cause should bleed

To clear the country of the hated brood

He whet his courage for the common good

Long hid before, a vile infernal here

Prevents Achilles in his mid career

Where'er this fury darts his Pois'nous breath

All are endanger'd to the shafts of death

by Phillis Wheatley

An Hymn To The Evening

Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main

The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;

Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,

Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.

Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,

And through the air their mingled music floats.

Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are

spread!

by Phillis Wheatley

Atheism --

Muse! Muse! where shall I begin the spacious feild

To tell what curses unbeleif doth yeild?

Thou who dost daily feel his hand, and rod

Darest thou deny the Essence of a God! —

If there's no heav'n, ah! whither wilt thou go

Make thy Ilysium in the shades below?

If there's no God from whom did all things Spring

He made the

by Phillis Wheatley

A Farewell To America to Mrs S W

. I.

Adieu, New-England's smiling meads,

Adieu, the flow'ry plain:

I leave thine op'ning charms, O spring,

And tempt the roaring main.

II.

In vain for me the flow'rets rise,

And boast their gaudy pride,

by Phillis Wheatley

On Messrs Hussey and Coffin

Did Fear and Danger so perplex your Mind,

As made you fearful of the Whistling Wind?

Was it not Boreas knit his angry Brow

Against you? or did Consideration bow?

To lend you Aid, did not his Winds combine?

To stop your passage with a churlish Line,

Did haughty Eolus with Contempt look down

With Aspect windy, and a study'd Frown?

by Phillis Wheatley

On Being Brought from Africa to America

'Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,

Taught my benighted soul to understand

That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:

Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.

Some view our sable race with scornful eye,

"Their colour is a diabolic dye."

Remember, Christians, Negro's, black as Cain,

May be refin'd, and join th' angelic train.

by Phillis Wheatley