“We have been told of the happiness of the Negro in his bondage; how blithely he joins in the dance, and how joyously he lifts the burthen of the song, and how free he is from all care for the morrow. But would the free man change places with the slave? Does he envy his condition? It was said of the peasants of France, in the days of a stern master, that they danced to forget their servitude. Mere animal excitement is the enjoyment of the beasts of the forest and the field, the bird of the air, the fish of the sea, and the million insect tribes, sporting in every sun-beam; but this is not the happiness of man.”-Introduction to Phyllis Wheatley’s MemoirBorn in Senegal in 1753, Phyllis Wheatley became the first black poet to publish her own work in the United States. She was a prodigy, picking up English within a year of living in America. By the time she turned twelve, Wheatley had learned Greek and Latin from reading Bible passages.John Wheatley and his wife bought Phyllis at a Boston slave market when she was seven years old. Mrs. Wheatley (there is no record of her first name) wanted a slave she could train as a companion, who would care for her as she aged. Soon after Phyllis joined the Wheatley household, one of the children taught Phyllis to read and write, and she showed such aptitude that she soon became a commodity in Boston.Wealthy people all over Massachusetts invited her to dinner frequently to read her poetry aloud, though she often asked to sit at a separate table—she said she didn’t want to offend the other guests with her presence. Voltaire once commented in a letter to a friend that Phyllis proved that black people could write poetry. The literati in Boston encouraged her growth as a writer and poet by lending her books.Generally she was treated as a part of the Wheatley family, and loved, though never formally freed or given any income. Because she was so loved by the Wheatley family she was isolated from the other slaves in the house and was not allowed to interact with them.She wrote and spoke little about her life in Senegal as a child. The only thing Phyllis spoke about with family or friends was the image she had of her mother pouring out water before sunrise.The first poem she published, she wrote as a eulogy for her minister in 1770. Shortly after that she traveled to England, and stayed with Lady Huntingdon and Lord Dartmouth, the benefactors of Dartmouth College, and continued writing.Though she had a short career, she was prolific, and wrote mostly on request by other people. Most of her surviving poems are eulogies. Her first collection of poetry was published in 1773, and it included her most famous poem, On Being Brought from Africa to America, in which she justifies her capture and enslavement as a religious triumph, but also delicately denounces racism.In 1774 (or 1778 according to some accounts) both Mr. and Mrs. Wheatley died, and soon after she married a man from Boston named Mr. Peters, who was cruel to her, and who her biographer called lazy and unreliable. She died destitute. She gave more to those she barely knew than she ever received from those she loved.  Selected Works by Phyllis Wheatley

HYMN TO THE EVENING. SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main, The pealing thunder shook the heavenly 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 heavens what beauteous dyes are spread, But the west glories in the deepest red: So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow, The living temples of our God below! Filled with the praise of him who gives the light, And draws the sable curtains of the night, Let placid slumbers soothe each weary mind, At morn to wake, more heavenly, more refined; So shall the labours of the day begin More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin. Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes, Then cease my song, till fair Aurora rise.

On Being Brought from Africa To America ‘Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land, Taught my beknighted soul to understand That there’s a God, that there’s a Savior too: Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. Some view our sable race with scornful eye, “Their color is a diabolic dye.” Remember Christians; Negroes, black as Cain, May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.

The last four lines of this poem appear on the first page of Phyllis’s Memoir, which is actually a biography written by, it is assumed, Geo W. Light. You can read Phyllis’s entire Memoir and a collection of her poetry at the following website: http://docsouth.unc.edu/neh/wheatley/wheatley.html.