Phillis Wheatley

Phillis Wheatley was the first noteworthy black female poet of the U.S. In the fight for black freedom, abolitionists often cited her works in order to refute the claim of black intellectual inferiority. Thought to be born near present-day Senegal in about 1753, Wheatley was kidnapped and enslaved in 1761. She was sold in Boston to the Wheatley family, who treated her as kindly as their own two daughters.The Wheatley family soon recognized her intelligence and allowed her privileges rarely given to other slaves. Mrs. Wheatley and her daughter taught the young, black girl to read and write, which she mastered in less than two years. Eventually, Wheatley also learned Greek and Latin, greatly surprising Boston scholars when she successfully translated one of Ovid's stories.

At the age of 13, Wheatley began writing poetry, publishing her first work in 1767, entitled "On Messrs. Hussey and Coffin." Her poems tended to reflect her religious upbringing and admiration of New England work ethic, and much of her literary work appeared in Boston publications, such as the Newport Mercury.

However, it was not until she wrote a poem on the death of Reverend George Whitefield that she became famous. Wheatley met Whitefield's close friend, Countess Selina of Huntington, who invited her to travel to England. While there, the countess aided Wheatley in publishing her poetry, and in 1773, Wheatley came out with her first volume, "Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral."

After the death of her former owners, Wheatley struggled to support herself as a poet and seamstress. In 1778, she married John Peters, a free black man who ran a small grocery store business that eventually failed. Wheatley, now Peters, continued writing poetry until her death in December 1784. Two volumes of her work were published posthumously, entitled "Memoirs and Poems of Phillis Wheatley" and "Letter of Phillis Wheatley, the Negro Slave-Poet of Boston."

Information has been compiled from Renascence Editions,

Archiving Early America and Encylopedia Britannica Online School Edition.

Phillis Wheatley's poem "On the Death of Reverend George Whitefield"

Hail, happy saint, on thine immortal throne,

Possest of glory, life, and bliss 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;

Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin'd

Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.

Unhappy we the setting sun deplore,

So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more.

Behold the prophet in his tow'ring flight!

He leaves the earth for heav'n's unmeasur'd height,

And worlds unknown receive him from our sight.

There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way,

And sails to Zion through vast seas of day.

Thy pray'rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries

Have pierc'd the bosom of thy native skies.

Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light,

How he has wrestled with his God by night.

He pray'd that grace in ev'ry heart might dwell,

He long'd to see America excell;

He charg'd its youth that ev'ry grace divine

Should with full lustre in their conduct shine;

That Saviour, which his soul did first receive,

The greatest gift that ev'n a God can give,

He freely offer'd to the num'rous throng,

That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung.

"Take him, ye wretched, for your only good,

"Take him ye starving sinners, for your food;

"Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream,

"Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme;

"Take him my dear Americans, he said,

"Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid:

"Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you,

"Impartial Saviour is his title due:

"Wash'd in the fountain of redeeming blood,

"You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God."

Great Countess, we Americans revere

Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;

New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn,

Their more than father will no more return.

But, though arrested by the hand of death,

Whitefield no more exerts his lab'ring breath,

Yet let us view him in th' eternal skies,

Let ev'ry heart to this bright vision rise;

While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust,

Till life divine re-animates his dust.