Robert Hayden — A Letter from Phillis Weatley ENG-102

London, 1773 Dear Obour Our crossing was without event. I could not help, at times, reflecting on that my first–my Destined– voyage long ago (I yet have some remembrance of its Horrors) and marvelling at God’s Ways. Last evening, her Ladyship presented me to her illustrious Friends. I could scarce tell them anything of Africa, though much of Boston and my hope of Heaven. I read my latest Elegies to them. “O Sable Muse!” the Countess cried, embracing me, when I had done. I held back tears, as is my wont, and there were tears in Dear Nathaniel’s eyes. At supper–I dined apart like captive Royalty– the Countess and her Guests promised signatures affirming me True Poetess, albeit once a slave. Indeed, they were most kind, and spoke, moreover, of presenting me at Court (I thought of Pocahontas)– an Honor, to be sure, but one I should, no doubt, as Patriot decline. My health is much improved; I feel I may, if God so Wills, entirely recover here. Idyllic England! Alas, there is no Eden without its Serpent. Under the chiming Complaisance I hear him Hiss; I see his flickering tongue when foppish would-be Wits murmur of the Yankee Pedlar and his Cannibal Mockingbird. Sister, forgive th’intrusion of my Sombreness–Nocturnal Mood I would not share with any save your trusted Self. Let me disperse, in closing, such unseemly Gloom by mention of an Incident you may, as I, consider Droll: Today, a little Chimney Sweep, his face and hands with soot quite Black, staring hard at me, politely asked: “Does you, M’lady, sweep chimneys too?” I was amused, but dear Nathaniel (ever Solicitous) was not. I pray the Blessings of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ be yours Abundantly. In His Name, Phillis