 | The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces |  |
But lo! smooth-swelling from the billowy tide
Jamaica's mountains rise in azure pride:
And o'er the shadowy clouds, that round them sweep,
Wave the tall woods on Cuba's ridgy steep.
Jamaica's mountains rise in azure pride:
And o'er the shadowy clouds, that round them sweep,
Wave the tall woods on Cuba's ridgy steep.
Now raise thy head, desponding captive; free
From all the horrours of the sultry sea,
Fly to the grassy vale, the cedar hill;
Catch the fresh breeze, and quaff the bounding rill;
Or to the wide Savanna haste away,
Where golden Autumn wears the bloom of May.
For thee th' anana springs: for thee shall bleed
The liquid amber of the dulcet reed:
The humming bird, to charm thy wond'ring eyes,
Bright to the sun shall show his rainbow dies:
To veil the streaming splendour o'er thine head,
His grove of leaves the smooth palmetto spread:
Cool gales of evening fragrance round thee move,
And glist'ning fire-flies light thee to thy love.
From all the horrours of the sultry sea,
Fly to the grassy vale, the cedar hill;
Catch the fresh breeze, and quaff the bounding rill;
Or to the wide Savanna haste away,
Where golden Autumn wears the bloom of May.
For thee th' anana springs: for thee shall bleed
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The humming bird, to charm thy wond'ring eyes,
Bright to the sun shall show his rainbow dies:
To veil the streaming splendour o'er thine head,
His grove of leaves the smooth palmetto spread:
Cool gales of evening fragrance round thee move,
And glist'ning fire-flies light thee to thy love.
No! cease the hope; the loathsome voyage o'er,
Severer horrors circle thee on shore.
Severer horrors circle thee on shore.
For ever doom'd an exile to remain;
For ever doom'd to drag the slavish chain;
Driv'n to the crowded mart; for sordid gold
Thyself and all thy future offspring sold;
There (shame to manhood!) shall a tyrant's hand
Stamp on thy naked breast the burning brand.
Ere to bright morn the shadowy twilight yield,
The sounding conch shall warn thee to the field,
Slave of a slave! To chide each short delay,
On thy torn limbs the knotted whip shall prey.
Fann'd by no gale, where plains unshelter'd lie,
Beat by the fervour of a blazing sky,
“ From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve,”
No comfort cheer thee, and no rest relieve,
Unblest, unfriended: till the pitying sun,
Who rising saw thy livelong task begun,
With purple light array the golden west,
And faint dismiss thee to distemper'd rest.
For ever doom'd to drag the slavish chain;
Driv'n to the crowded mart; for sordid gold
Thyself and all thy future offspring sold;
There (shame to manhood!) shall a tyrant's hand
Stamp on thy naked breast the burning brand.
Ere to bright morn the shadowy twilight yield,
The sounding conch shall warn thee to the field,
Slave of a slave! To chide each short delay,
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Fann'd by no gale, where plains unshelter'd lie,
Beat by the fervour of a blazing sky,
“ From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve,”
No comfort cheer thee, and no rest relieve,
Unblest, unfriended: till the pitying sun,
Who rising saw thy livelong task begun,
With purple light array the golden west,
And faint dismiss thee to distemper'd rest.
Then shall thy limbs confess the tort'ring smart:
Then shall the iron enter in thy heart:
Or if for one short hour oblivious sleep
In balmy dews thy aching temples steep,
And waft thee back to Afric's distant shore,
And gild the dream with bliss, ah! thine no more;
Scar'd by the echo of the morning shell
Again shall fade the visionary spell,
And leave thee to the horrours of despair,
The sad reality of waking care.
Then shall the iron enter in thy heart:
Or if for one short hour oblivious sleep
In balmy dews thy aching temples steep,
And waft thee back to Afric's distant shore,
And gild the dream with bliss, ah! thine no more;
Scar'd by the echo of the morning shell
Again shall fade the visionary spell,
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The sad reality of waking care.
Not such the rest Britannia's peasant knows,
Whose willing labour leads to calm repose.
Tho' few the pleasures of his humble cot,
Tho' plain his fare, and toilsome be his lot,
Yet blest in conscious liberty he lives;
Yet law secures the rights, which nature gives;
And still, as breaking from the smiling east,
Beams the glad day of consecrated rest,
Religion wakes the fires, that slumb'ring lie,
Refines his heart, and lifts his soul on high.
Whose willing labour leads to calm repose.
Tho' few the pleasures of his humble cot,
Tho' plain his fare, and toilsome be his lot,
Yet blest in conscious liberty he lives;
Yet law secures the rights, which nature gives;
And still, as breaking from the smiling east,
Beams the glad day of consecrated rest,
Religion wakes the fires, that slumb'ring lie,
Refines his heart, and lifts his soul on high.
But thou, degraded Afric's abject son,
Drear is the course of sorrow, thou must run.
Thy plaints by foul misshapen justice tried,
Thy feelings question'd, and thy rights denied,
If pity, shame, or selfishness impart
Repose or comfort to thy drooping heart,
Thy scanty pittance of precarious joy
The hand, which proffers, shall at will destroy;
The voice, which bids the lash its fury stay,
At will shall give suspended vengeance way:
While, form'd for heav'n and heav'nly thoughts in vain!
The ceaseless weight of the reproachful chain
Shall quell each nobler purpose of thy mind;
Benumb thy feelings, and thy reason blind;
Down to the earth thy tow'ring spirit draw;
Defeat thy Maker's will, reverse his law:
Till thy immortal nature it imbrute,
Thy earthly frame's celestial attribute;
Forbid thy soul superiour worlds to scan;
Displace, degrade thee in creation's plan;
And leave a worthless form, the semblance of a man.
Drear is the course of sorrow, thou must run.
Thy plaints by foul misshapen justice tried,
Thy feelings question'd, and thy rights denied,
If pity, shame, or selfishness impart
Repose or comfort to thy drooping heart,
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The hand, which proffers, shall at will destroy;
The voice, which bids the lash its fury stay,
At will shall give suspended vengeance way:
While, form'd for heav'n and heav'nly thoughts in vain!
The ceaseless weight of the reproachful chain
Shall quell each nobler purpose of thy mind;
Benumb thy feelings, and thy reason blind;
Down to the earth thy tow'ring spirit draw;
Defeat thy Maker's will, reverse his law:
Till thy immortal nature it imbrute,
Thy earthly frame's celestial attribute;
Forbid thy soul superiour worlds to scan;
Displace, degrade thee in creation's plan;
And leave a worthless form, the semblance of a man.
So shall at length thy nobler part be broke,
Cleave to the ground, and hug the slavish yoke:
Or proudly spurning at the name of slave,
Too fierce to yield, yet impotent to save,
A willing victim to the tomb go down:
Or, leagu'd with high-born spirits, like thine own,
Rise in wild vengeance o'er the trembling foe,
Repay the wrong, and lay th' oppressor low.
Cleave to the ground, and hug the slavish yoke:
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Too fierce to yield, yet impotent to save,
A willing victim to the tomb go down:
Or, leagu'd with high-born spirits, like thine own,
Rise in wild vengeance o'er the trembling foe,
Repay the wrong, and lay th' oppressor low.
Thus o'er Jamaica's pallid isle of late
Hung the black cloud, with ruin charg'd and fate:
Thus rolling on with gather'd fury, shed
Its night of tempest on Domingo's head.
Hung the black cloud, with ruin charg'd and fate:
Thus rolling on with gather'd fury, shed
Its night of tempest on Domingo's head.
Thron'd on the storm, and all his soul on flame,
A thirst for vengeance, Afric's Genius came.
His sons beheld him, tow'ring in his might;
And clank'd their chains with horrible delight;
Wav'd the red banner o'er the murmuring flood;
And yell'd to war; and bath'd the land in blood.
Nor rest; nor respite: death to death succeeds:
The negro triumphs, and the white man bleeds.
E'en Europe trembled, as she heard from far
The sounding march of injur'd Afric's war;
While bleeding Gaul her ravish'd empire mourn'd,
And bow'd to freemen, whom as slaves she scorn'd.
A thirst for vengeance, Afric's Genius came.
His sons beheld him, tow'ring in his might;
And clank'd their chains with horrible delight;
Wav'd the red banner o'er the murmuring flood;
And yell'd to war; and bath'd the land in blood.
Nor rest; nor respite: death to death succeeds:
The negro triumphs, and the white man bleeds.
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The sounding march of injur'd Afric's war;
While bleeding Gaul her ravish'd empire mourn'd,
And bow'd to freemen, whom as slaves she scorn'd.
| The Slave, and Other Poetical Pieces | |