 | The Emancipation Car |  |
AN EVERY DAY SCENE.
[_]
Many who have escaped the yoke of the task-masters, have no doubt witnessed, and perhaps experienced the full spirit of the following lines. Tune—One Hundred Years Ago.
A vision passed before my mind—
A daily Southern scene.
But he who travels South will find
'Tis more than a fancied dream.
A daily Southern scene.
But he who travels South will find
'Tis more than a fancied dream.
A boy stood on the Auction Block,
He was beautiful and mild;
He had a sweet angelic look—
He was an only child.
He was beautiful and mild;
He had a sweet angelic look—
He was an only child.
I saw the mother of that lad,
Come pressing through the crowd;
Her gentle form was neatly clad,
Her cries were keen and loud.
Come pressing through the crowd;
Her gentle form was neatly clad,
Her cries were keen and loud.
She clung around her master's feet;
I thought she would go wild,
And every breath she would repeat,
O, master, where's my child?
I thought she would go wild,
And every breath she would repeat,
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The Auctioneer paid no regard
To weeping, wails nor cries;
His heart like adamant was hard,
And glassy was his eyes;
To weeping, wails nor cries;
His heart like adamant was hard,
And glassy was his eyes;
He loudly cried the child is sound,
And worth his weight in gold!
Come, Speculators, come around;
This negro must be sold.
And worth his weight in gold!
Come, Speculators, come around;
This negro must be sold.
I saw the hammer lifted up,
To drive the fatal dart.
Which pointed like a thunderbolt,
To that fond mother's heart,
To drive the fatal dart.
Which pointed like a thunderbolt,
To that fond mother's heart,
Nine hundred dollars then was bid;
The master turned and smiled;
Although the mother constant plead,
O, master, where's my child?
The master turned and smiled;
Although the mother constant plead,
O, master, where's my child?
Nine hundred! cried the Auctioneer;
Can I not hear the ten?
This bid is quite inferior
Among so many men!
Can I not hear the ten?
This bid is quite inferior
Among so many men!
Nine hundred, there's a bargain here,
To him who gives fifteen,
And if you think the child is dear,
Just bring him back again.
To him who gives fifteen,
And if you think the child is dear,
Just bring him back again.
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The mother, overcome with grief,
Lay senseless on the ground;
The master to her groans was deaf,
No favor could be found.
Lay senseless on the ground;
The master to her groans was deaf,
No favor could be found.
The sound like tones of thunder fell.
Upon the mighty throng—
One thousand's bid, I cannot dwell,
He's going! going!! gone!!!
Upon the mighty throng—
One thousand's bid, I cannot dwell,
He's going! going!! gone!!!
The mother started from her sleep,
With shrieks and piercing yells,
Which would have made a demon weep
In his infernal cell.
With shrieks and piercing yells,
Which would have made a demon weep
In his infernal cell.
The master of his gold was proud,
Which had his soul beguiled,
Although the mother cried aloud
O, master, where's my child?
Which had his soul beguiled,
Although the mother cried aloud
O, master, where's my child?
I heard that mother's last appeal—
But could not take her part,
I thought before that man could feel,
While he retained a heart.
But could not take her part,
I thought before that man could feel,
While he retained a heart.
She died a raving maniac,
Her master only smiled;
She cried with her expiring breath,
O, master, where's my child?
Her master only smiled;
She cried with her expiring breath,
O, master, where's my child?
| The Emancipation Car | |