University of Virginia Library

Blacker the crime, I grant, than his black skin,
O ye who hale him to hot penances.
And yet he is man—though bestial, still is man,
And law was made for man, however large
May tower his turpitude. The strength and right
Of Justice in her scales and bandaged eyes
Hold sanctuary, and when from hand or brow
Ye ravish these, the insignia of her rule,
Forthwith ye have turned her fragile as a reed.
Throne in her place Revenge, if so ye will,
With torture for its minion. What avails?

Lo, placid History plucks ye by the sleeve. ...
Who is this monster that your blasts of wrath
Buffet so furiously? Bid patience track
With rearward look his paths of pedigree.
In Africa, through shades of giant fern,
To some near verge of ocean spired with palms,
A youth strayed careless from his playfellows,
When suddenly ambushed captors leapt on him,
And felled his body, and leashed his limbs, and gagged
His mouth, and rowed him where a bark hugged shore—
That scorpion of the sea, their slave-ship! Here
In filth and fetor many a night and day
Of anguish did he toss, moan, supplicate.
Then came release, though slavery brought its boon!
And on through generations born of him
Did slavery linger. Who but knows the tale?
Whittier's melodious muse hath sung it us,
The oratory of Summer phrased it us,
The guns of Grant and Sherman roared it us,
And yet with mightier meaning than all these,
The martyrdom of Lincoln left it us!
A zephyr, and not a whirlwind, shall we reap
When once we have sown the wind? Who dares to dream
That ignorance and abasement breed their kind
Unsmirched? O ye that with the autocracy
Of lawlessness would cloak yourselves, beware!
Punishment shorn of justice rates ye all
A bevy of mere assassins, who defame
The freedom that your sires' blood-sacrifice
Inviolable should keep.

Ah, yes, we know
Your grievance to its hideous depth and height.
But these no longer are the days that robe
Precipitate passion with spectacular
Tinsels of dignity. Each thrust of blade,
Each glittering fagot, each lewd jeer ye deal
The swart bound wretch who shrieks his vile life mute,
Infects your own souls with his bane of sin,
Rebrutalises there the brute benumbed
By civilisation, drags ye darkly back
To savagery whence life hath striven to steer
Your destinies, and swathes with ruffian fog
The august gold orb of wisdom's pilot star.