 | Selected poems by William J. Grayson |  |
50
2. PART II
THE ARGUMENT
The hireling in Europe willing to exchange for the security of the slave his own precarious subsistence; the comforts of the slave; his religious enjoyments; his sports and amusements; extinction of the Indian tribes in the country now inhabited by the negro; certainty that the negro would also disappear if not protected by slavery; this fate speedy in temperate climates—as certain, if slower, in tropical countries, habitable by whites; awaits the blacks in Hayti; folly of exchanging the comfort and security of the slave for a certain evil of problematical good; purposes of African slavery—the cultivation of tropical countries, the improvement of the negro, the civilization of Africa; duty of the master to govern with vigor, but kindness; to regard his part of the work as also assigned by Providence, and to perform it faithfully.
51
See yonder poor o'erlabored wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil,
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.—
Burns.
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil,
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.—
Burns.
Where hireling millions toil, in doubt and fear,
For food and clothing all the weary year,
Content and grateful if their masters give
The boon they beg—to labor and to live;
While dreamers task their idle wits to find
A short-hand method to enrich mankind,
And Fourier's scheme or Owen's plans entice
Expectant thousands with some deep device
For raising wages, for abating toil,
And reaping crops from ill-attended soil:
If, while the anxious multitudes appear,
Now glad with hope, now yielding to despair,
A seraph form, descending from the skies,
In mercy sent, should meet their wond'ring eyes,
And, smiling, offer to each suppliant there
The promised good that fills the laborer's prayer—
Food, clothing, freedom from the wants, the cares,
The pauper hireling ever feels or fears;
And, at their death, these blessings to renew,
That wives and children may enjoy them too,
That, when disease or age their strength impairs,
Subsistence and a home should still be theirs—
What wonder would the gracious boon impart,
What grateful rapture swell the peasant's heart!
How freely would the hungry list'ners give
A life-long labor thus secure to live!
For food and clothing all the weary year,
Content and grateful if their masters give
The boon they beg—to labor and to live;
While dreamers task their idle wits to find
A short-hand method to enrich mankind,
And Fourier's scheme or Owen's plans entice
Expectant thousands with some deep device
For raising wages, for abating toil,
And reaping crops from ill-attended soil:
If, while the anxious multitudes appear,
Now glad with hope, now yielding to despair,
A seraph form, descending from the skies,
In mercy sent, should meet their wond'ring eyes,
And, smiling, offer to each suppliant there
The promised good that fills the laborer's prayer—
Food, clothing, freedom from the wants, the cares,
The pauper hireling ever feels or fears;
52
That wives and children may enjoy them too,
That, when disease or age their strength impairs,
Subsistence and a home should still be theirs—
What wonder would the gracious boon impart,
What grateful rapture swell the peasant's heart!
How freely would the hungry list'ners give
A life-long labor thus secure to live!
And yet the life, so unassailed by care,
So blessed with moderate work, with ample fare,
With all the good the starving pauper needs,
The happier slave on each plantation leads;
Safe from harassing doubts and annual fears,
He dreads no famine in unfruitful years;
If harvests fail from inauspicious skies,
The master's providence his food supplies;
No paupers perish here for want of bread,
Or lingering live, by foreign bounty fed;
No exiled trains of homeless peasants go,
In distant climes, to tell their tales of woe:
Far other fortune, free from care and strife,
For work, or bread, attends the negro's life,
And Christian slaves may challenge as their own,
The blessings claimed in fabled states alone—
The cabin home, not comfortless, though rude,
Light daily labor, and abundant food;
The sturdy health that temperate habits yield,
The cheerful song that rings in every field,
The long, loud laugh, that freemen seldom share,
Heaven's boon to bosoms unapproached by care,
And boisterous jest and humor unrefined,
That leave, though rough, no painful sting behind;
While, nestling near, to bless their humble lot,
Warm social joys surround the negro's cot,
The evening dance its merriment imparts,
Love, with his rapture, fills their youthful hearts,
And placid age, the task of labor done,
Enjoys the summer shade, the winter sun,
And, as through life no pauper want he knows,
Laments no poor-house penance at its close.
So blessed with moderate work, with ample fare,
With all the good the starving pauper needs,
The happier slave on each plantation leads;
Safe from harassing doubts and annual fears,
He dreads no famine in unfruitful years;
If harvests fail from inauspicious skies,
The master's providence his food supplies;
No paupers perish here for want of bread,
Or lingering live, by foreign bounty fed;
No exiled trains of homeless peasants go,
In distant climes, to tell their tales of woe:
Far other fortune, free from care and strife,
For work, or bread, attends the negro's life,
And Christian slaves may challenge as their own,
The blessings claimed in fabled states alone—
The cabin home, not comfortless, though rude,
Light daily labor, and abundant food;
The sturdy health that temperate habits yield,
The cheerful song that rings in every field,
The long, loud laugh, that freemen seldom share,
53
And boisterous jest and humor unrefined,
That leave, though rough, no painful sting behind;
While, nestling near, to bless their humble lot,
Warm social joys surround the negro's cot,
The evening dance its merriment imparts,
Love, with his rapture, fills their youthful hearts,
And placid age, the task of labor done,
Enjoys the summer shade, the winter sun,
And, as through life no pauper want he knows,
Laments no poor-house penance at its close.
Safe in Ambition's trumpet call to strife,
No conscript fears harass his quiet life,
While the crushed peasant bleeds—a worthless thing,
The broken toy of emperor or king;
Calm in his peaceful home, the slave prepares
His garden-spot, and plies his rustic cares;
The comb and honey that his bees afford,
The eggs in ample gourd compactly stored,
The pig, the poultry, with a chapman's art,
He sells or barters at the village mart,
Or, at the master's mansion, never fails
An ampler price to find and readier sales.
No conscript fears harass his quiet life,
While the crushed peasant bleeds—a worthless thing,
The broken toy of emperor or king;
Calm in his peaceful home, the slave prepares
His garden-spot, and plies his rustic cares;
The comb and honey that his bees afford,
The eggs in ample gourd compactly stored,
The pig, the poultry, with a chapman's art,
He sells or barters at the village mart,
Or, at the master's mansion, never fails
An ampler price to find and readier sales.
There when December's welcome frosts recall
The friends and inmates of the crowded hall,
To each glad nursling of the master's race
He brings his present, with a cheerful face
And offered hand; of warm, unfeigning heart,
In all his master's joys he claims a part,
And, true as clansman to the Highland chief,
Mourns every loss, and grieves in all his grief;
When Christmas now, with its abundant cheer
And thornless pleasure, speeds the parting year,
He shares the common joy—the early morn
Wakes hunter, clamorous hound, and echoing horn,
Quick steps are heard, the merry season named,
The loiterers caught, the wonted forfeit claimed,
In feasts maturing busy hands appear,
And jest and laugh assail the ready ear;
Whose voice, than his, more gayly greets the dawn,
Whose foot so lightly treads the frosty lawn,
Whose heart as merrily, where mirth prevails,
On every side the joyous season hails?
Around the slaughtered ox—a Christmas prize,
The slaves assembling stand with eager eyes,
Rouse, with their dogs, the porker's piercing cry,
Or drag its squealing tenant from the sty;
With smile and bow receive their winter dues,
The strong, warm clothing, and substantial shoes,
Blankets adorned with stripes of border red,
And caps of wool that warm the woollier head;
Then clear the barn, the ample area fill,
In the gay jig display their vigorous skill;
No dainty steps, no mincing measures here—
Ellsler's trained graces—seem to float in air,
But hearts of joy and nerves of living steel,
On floors that spring beneath the bounding reel;
Proud on his chair, with magisterial glance
And stamping foot, the fiddler rules the dance;
Draws, if he nods, the still unwearied bow,
And gives a joy no bearded bands bestow;
The triple holiday, on angel wings,
With every fleeting hour a pleasure brings;
No ennui clouds, no coming cares annoy,
Nor wants nor sorrows check the negro's joy.
The friends and inmates of the crowded hall,
To each glad nursling of the master's race
He brings his present, with a cheerful face
And offered hand; of warm, unfeigning heart,
In all his master's joys he claims a part,
54
Mourns every loss, and grieves in all his grief;
When Christmas now, with its abundant cheer
And thornless pleasure, speeds the parting year,
He shares the common joy—the early morn
Wakes hunter, clamorous hound, and echoing horn,
Quick steps are heard, the merry season named,
The loiterers caught, the wonted forfeit claimed,
In feasts maturing busy hands appear,
And jest and laugh assail the ready ear;
Whose voice, than his, more gayly greets the dawn,
Whose foot so lightly treads the frosty lawn,
Whose heart as merrily, where mirth prevails,
On every side the joyous season hails?
Around the slaughtered ox—a Christmas prize,
The slaves assembling stand with eager eyes,
Rouse, with their dogs, the porker's piercing cry,
Or drag its squealing tenant from the sty;
With smile and bow receive their winter dues,
The strong, warm clothing, and substantial shoes,
Blankets adorned with stripes of border red,
And caps of wool that warm the woollier head;
Then clear the barn, the ample area fill,
In the gay jig display their vigorous skill;
No dainty steps, no mincing measures here—
Ellsler's trained graces—seem to float in air,
But hearts of joy and nerves of living steel,
On floors that spring beneath the bounding reel;
Proud on his chair, with magisterial glance
55
Draws, if he nods, the still unwearied bow,
And gives a joy no bearded bands bestow;
The triple holiday, on angel wings,
With every fleeting hour a pleasure brings;
No ennui clouds, no coming cares annoy,
Nor wants nor sorrows check the negro's joy.
His, too, the Christian privilege to share
The weekly festival of praise and prayer;
For him the Sabbath shines with holier light,
The air grows balmier, and the sky more bright;
Winter's brief suns with warmer radiance glow,
With softer breath the gales of autumn glow,
Spring with new flowers more richly strews the ground,
And summer spreads a fresher verdure round;
The early shower is past; the joyous breeze
Shakes patt'ring rain-drops from the rustling trees,
And with the sun, the fragrant offerings rise
From Nature's censers to the bounteous skies;
With cheerful aspect, in his best array,
To the far forest church he takes his way;
With kind salute the passing neighbor meets,
With awkward grace the morning traveler greets,
And joined by crowds, that gather as he goes,
Seeks the calm joy the Sabbath morn bestows.
There no proud temples to devotion rise,
With marble domes that emulate the skies,
But bosomed deep in ancient trees, that spread
Their limbs o'er mouldering mansions of the dead,
Moss-cinctured oaks and solemn pines between,
Of modest wood, the house of God is seen,
By shaded springs, that from the sloping land
Bubble and sparkle through the silver sand,
Where high o'er arching laurel blossoms blow,
Where fragrant bays breathe kindred sweets below,
And elm and ash their blended arms entwine
With the bright foliage of the mantling vine:
In quiet chat, before the hour of prayer,
Masters and slaves in scattered groups appear;
Loosed from the carriage, in the shades around,
Impatient horses neigh and paw the ground;
No city discords break the silence here,
No sounds unmeet offend the listener's ear;
But rural melodies of flocks and birds,
The lowing, far and faint, of distant herds,
The mocking-bird, with minstrel pride elate,
The partridge whistling for its absent mate,
The thrush's solitary notes prolong,
Bold, merry blackbirds swell the general song;
The crested cardinal, of scarlet hue,
The jay, with restless wing of softer blue,
The cawing crow—upon the loftiest pine
Cautious and safe—their various voices join.
The weekly festival of praise and prayer;
For him the Sabbath shines with holier light,
The air grows balmier, and the sky more bright;
Winter's brief suns with warmer radiance glow,
With softer breath the gales of autumn glow,
Spring with new flowers more richly strews the ground,
And summer spreads a fresher verdure round;
The early shower is past; the joyous breeze
Shakes patt'ring rain-drops from the rustling trees,
And with the sun, the fragrant offerings rise
From Nature's censers to the bounteous skies;
With cheerful aspect, in his best array,
To the far forest church he takes his way;
With kind salute the passing neighbor meets,
With awkward grace the morning traveler greets,
And joined by crowds, that gather as he goes,
Seeks the calm joy the Sabbath morn bestows.
There no proud temples to devotion rise,
With marble domes that emulate the skies,
But bosomed deep in ancient trees, that spread
Their limbs o'er mouldering mansions of the dead,
56
Of modest wood, the house of God is seen,
By shaded springs, that from the sloping land
Bubble and sparkle through the silver sand,
Where high o'er arching laurel blossoms blow,
Where fragrant bays breathe kindred sweets below,
And elm and ash their blended arms entwine
With the bright foliage of the mantling vine:
In quiet chat, before the hour of prayer,
Masters and slaves in scattered groups appear;
Loosed from the carriage, in the shades around,
Impatient horses neigh and paw the ground;
No city discords break the silence here,
No sounds unmeet offend the listener's ear;
But rural melodies of flocks and birds,
The lowing, far and faint, of distant herds,
The mocking-bird, with minstrel pride elate,
The partridge whistling for its absent mate,
The thrush's solitary notes prolong,
Bold, merry blackbirds swell the general song;
The crested cardinal, of scarlet hue,
The jay, with restless wing of softer blue,
The cawing crow—upon the loftiest pine
Cautious and safe—their various voices join.
When now the pastor lifts his earnest eyes,
And hands outstretched, a suppliant to the skies,
No rites of pomp or pride beguile the soul,
No organs peal, no clouds of incense roll,
But, line by line, untutored voices raise,
Like the wild birds, their simple notes of praise,
And hearts of love, with true devotion, bring
Incense more pure to Heaven's eternal King;
On glorious themes their humble thoughts employ,
And rise transported with no earthly joy;
The blessing said, the service o'er, again
Their swelling voices raise the sacred strain;
Lingering, they love to sing of Jordan's shore,
Where sorrows cease, and toil is known no more.
And hands outstretched, a suppliant to the skies,
No rites of pomp or pride beguile the soul,
No organs peal, no clouds of incense roll,
But, line by line, untutored voices raise,
57
And hearts of love, with true devotion, bring
Incense more pure to Heaven's eternal King;
On glorious themes their humble thoughts employ,
And rise transported with no earthly joy;
The blessing said, the service o'er, again
Their swelling voices raise the sacred strain;
Lingering, they love to sing of Jordan's shore,
Where sorrows cease, and toil is known no more.
Not toil alone the fortune of the slave—
He shares the sports and spoils of wood and wave;
Through the dense swamp, where wilder forests rise
In tangled masses, and shut out the skies,
Where the dark covert shuns the noontide blaze,
With agile step he threads the pathless maze;
The hollow gum with searching eye explores,
Traces the bee to its delicious stores,
The ringing axe with ceaseless vigor plies,
And from the hollow scoops the luscious prize.
He shares the sports and spoils of wood and wave;
Through the dense swamp, where wilder forests rise
In tangled masses, and shut out the skies,
Where the dark covert shuns the noontide blaze,
With agile step he threads the pathless maze;
The hollow gum with searching eye explores,
Traces the bee to its delicious stores,
The ringing axe with ceaseless vigor plies,
And from the hollow scoops the luscious prize.
When Autumn's parting days grow cold and brief,
Light hoar-frost sparkles on the fallen leaf,
The breezeless pines, at rest, no longer sigh,
Bright, pearl-like clouds hang shining in the sky,
And on strong pinions, in the clear blue light,
Exulting falcons wheel their towering flight,
With short, shrill cry arrest the cheerful flow
Of song, and hush the frightened fields below.
When to the homestead flocks and herds incline,
Sonorous conchs recall the rambling swine,
And from the fleecy field the setting sun
Sends home the slave, his easy harvest done;
In field and wood he hunts the frequent hare,
The wild hog chases to the forest lair;
Entraps the gobbler; with persuasive smoke
Beguiles the 'possum from the hollow oak;
On the tall pine-tree's topmost bough espies
The crafty coon—a more important prize—
Detects the dodger's peering eyes, that glow
With fire reflected from the blaze below;
Hews down the branchless trunk with practiced hand,
And drives the climber from his nodding stand:
Downward at last he springs, with crashing sound,
Where Jet and Pincher seize him on the ground;
Yields to the hunter the contested spoil,
And pays, with feast and fur, the evening toil.
Light hoar-frost sparkles on the fallen leaf,
The breezeless pines, at rest, no longer sigh,
Bright, pearl-like clouds hang shining in the sky,
And on strong pinions, in the clear blue light,
Exulting falcons wheel their towering flight,
With short, shrill cry arrest the cheerful flow
Of song, and hush the frightened fields below.
When to the homestead flocks and herds incline,
58
And from the fleecy field the setting sun
Sends home the slave, his easy harvest done;
In field and wood he hunts the frequent hare,
The wild hog chases to the forest lair;
Entraps the gobbler; with persuasive smoke
Beguiles the 'possum from the hollow oak;
On the tall pine-tree's topmost bough espies
The crafty coon—a more important prize—
Detects the dodger's peering eyes, that glow
With fire reflected from the blaze below;
Hews down the branchless trunk with practiced hand,
And drives the climber from his nodding stand:
Downward at last he springs, with crashing sound,
Where Jet and Pincher seize him on the ground;
Yields to the hunter the contested spoil,
And pays, with feast and fur, the evening toil.
If breezes sleep, and clouds obscure the light,
The boatman tries the fortune of the night,
Launches the swift canoe—on either side
Dips his light paddle in the sparkling tide;
By bank and marshy isle, with measured force
And noiseless stroke, directs his quiet course;
Still, at the bow, a watchful partner stands,
The leaded meshes ready in his hands,
Prepared and prompt to cast—the torch's beam
Gleams like a gliding meteor on the stream;
Along the shore the flick'ring firelight steals,
Shines through the deep, and all its wealth reveals;
The spotted trout its mottled side displays,
Swift shoals of mullet flash beneath the blaze;
He marks their rippling course; through cold and wet,
Lashes the flashing wave with dextrous net,
With poised harpoon the bass or drum assails,
And strikes the barb through silv'ry tinted scales.
The boatman tries the fortune of the night,
Launches the swift canoe—on either side
Dips his light paddle in the sparkling tide;
By bank and marshy isle, with measured force
And noiseless stroke, directs his quiet course;
Still, at the bow, a watchful partner stands,
The leaded meshes ready in his hands,
Prepared and prompt to cast—the torch's beam
Gleams like a gliding meteor on the stream;
Along the shore the flick'ring firelight steals,
Shines through the deep, and all its wealth reveals;
59
Swift shoals of mullet flash beneath the blaze;
He marks their rippling course; through cold and wet,
Lashes the flashing wave with dextrous net,
With poised harpoon the bass or drum assails,
And strikes the barb through silv'ry tinted scales.
On sandy islets, when, in early June,
With lustrous glory looks the full-orbed moon,
And, spreading from the eye, her pearly light
Shines on the billows tremulously bright,
When swelling tides—the winds and waves at rest—
Tempt the shy turtle to her simple nest,
That, scooped in sand, and hid with curious art,
Waits the quick life that summer suns impart,
The negro's watchful step the beach explores,
In the loose sand detects its secret stores,
Pursues the fugitive's slow, cumbrous flight,
And wins his crowning trophy for the night.
With lustrous glory looks the full-orbed moon,
And, spreading from the eye, her pearly light
Shines on the billows tremulously bright,
When swelling tides—the winds and waves at rest—
Tempt the shy turtle to her simple nest,
That, scooped in sand, and hid with curious art,
Waits the quick life that summer suns impart,
The negro's watchful step the beach explores,
In the loose sand detects its secret stores,
Pursues the fugitive's slow, cumbrous flight,
And wins his crowning trophy for the night.
No need has he the poacher's doom to fear,
Himself ensnared, while sedulous to snare;
To him no keeper closes field or wood,
Nor law forbids the riches of the flood;
Shrimp, oyster, mullet, an Apician feast,
Fit for the taste of pampered prince or priest,
He freely takes, nor dreads the partial law
That seeks the boon of Nature to withdraw
From common use, for Fortune's sated son,
A pastime only for his rod or gun,
Kept for an idler's sport, preserved and fed,
While hungry thousands cry aloud for bread.
Himself ensnared, while sedulous to snare;
To him no keeper closes field or wood,
Nor law forbids the riches of the flood;
Shrimp, oyster, mullet, an Apician feast,
Fit for the taste of pampered prince or priest,
He freely takes, nor dreads the partial law
That seeks the boon of Nature to withdraw
From common use, for Fortune's sated son,
60
Kept for an idler's sport, preserved and fed,
While hungry thousands cry aloud for bread.
Still braver sports are his when April showers
Give life and beauty to the joyous flowers,
When jasmines, through the wood, to early spring,
In golden cups, their dewy incense bring,
White dogwood blossoms sparkle through the trees,
The grape's wild fragrance scents the morning breeze,
And with the warmer sun and balmier air,
The finny myriads to their haunts repair:
Such sports are his—with ready jest and glee,
Where bold Port Royal spreads its mimic sea;
Far in the north—the length'ning bay and sky
Blent into one—its shining waters lie,
And southward, breaking on the shelving shore,
Meet the sea-wave, and swell its endless roar;
On either hand gay groups of islands show
Their charms reflected in the stream below:
No sunnier lands, no lovelier isles than these,
No happier homes the weary traveler sees!
Hilton's long shore on Ocean's breast reclines,
And rears her headland of majestic pines;
Fenced from the billows by her subject isles,
Touched by the rising sun, St. Helen smiles,
Gleaming afar across the purple bay,
Her sand-hills glitter with the morning ray;
Worn by the tides, reluctant Parris yields
To waves and shallows her receding fields;
Dawes centred lies in marshes broad and green,
Beaufort's dark woods adorn the varying scene,
And Lemon's oak, in lonely grandeur, rears
His form—a giant of a thousand years—
The sole survivor of a Titan race,
A living monument, he marks the place
Where dauntless hearts, Ribault's ill-fated band,
Claimed, as their own, the wide imperial land;
Sent by Coligni's wisdom to explore,
For peaceful homes, this new-discovered shore.
They mark each quiet nook, each grassy glade,
And spreading oak, of broad, inviting shade,
In endless woods, with eager pleasure roam,
And hail with joy the promised Western home;
While chiefs and kings the wondrous stranger greet,
And lay their presents at the white man's feet;
But vain the hope! To this sequestered place
Their ancient foes, the fierce Iberian race,
Through miry swamps and pathless thickets steal,
Murder the heretic with frantic zeal,
Pollute, with Christian blood, the virgin sod,
And prove, by massacre, their love of God.
With better fortune, near the bloodstained grave,
Advent'rous Britons, braving wind and wave,
Guided by Sayle, in merry Charles's reign,
Sought wealth and empire on these shores again;
Weary of storm and calm, of seas and skies,
They watched the rising coast with rapturous eyes,
Trod with delight the fragrance-breathing strand,
And drew new life and vigor from the land,
But, warned by spectral visions of the dead,
From the broad bay and peerless islands fled,
To safer fields their feeble fortunes bore,
And built their state on Ashley's sheltered shore.
Give life and beauty to the joyous flowers,
When jasmines, through the wood, to early spring,
In golden cups, their dewy incense bring,
White dogwood blossoms sparkle through the trees,
The grape's wild fragrance scents the morning breeze,
And with the warmer sun and balmier air,
The finny myriads to their haunts repair:
Such sports are his—with ready jest and glee,
Where bold Port Royal spreads its mimic sea;
Far in the north—the length'ning bay and sky
Blent into one—its shining waters lie,
And southward, breaking on the shelving shore,
Meet the sea-wave, and swell its endless roar;
On either hand gay groups of islands show
Their charms reflected in the stream below:
No sunnier lands, no lovelier isles than these,
No happier homes the weary traveler sees!
Hilton's long shore on Ocean's breast reclines,
And rears her headland of majestic pines;
Fenced from the billows by her subject isles,
Touched by the rising sun, St. Helen smiles,
Gleaming afar across the purple bay,
Her sand-hills glitter with the morning ray;
Worn by the tides, reluctant Parris yields
To waves and shallows her receding fields;
61
Beaufort's dark woods adorn the varying scene,
And Lemon's oak, in lonely grandeur, rears
His form—a giant of a thousand years—
The sole survivor of a Titan race,
A living monument, he marks the place
Where dauntless hearts, Ribault's ill-fated band,
Claimed, as their own, the wide imperial land;
Sent by Coligni's wisdom to explore,
For peaceful homes, this new-discovered shore.
They mark each quiet nook, each grassy glade,
And spreading oak, of broad, inviting shade,
In endless woods, with eager pleasure roam,
And hail with joy the promised Western home;
While chiefs and kings the wondrous stranger greet,
And lay their presents at the white man's feet;
But vain the hope! To this sequestered place
Their ancient foes, the fierce Iberian race,
Through miry swamps and pathless thickets steal,
Murder the heretic with frantic zeal,
Pollute, with Christian blood, the virgin sod,
And prove, by massacre, their love of God.
With better fortune, near the bloodstained grave,
Advent'rous Britons, braving wind and wave,
Guided by Sayle, in merry Charles's reign,
Sought wealth and empire on these shores again;
Weary of storm and calm, of seas and skies,
They watched the rising coast with rapturous eyes,
Trod with delight the fragrance-breathing strand,
62
But, warned by spectral visions of the dead,
From the broad bay and peerless islands fled,
To safer fields their feeble fortunes bore,
And built their state on Ashley's sheltered shore.
Far in the west, where sunset's parting beam
With brighter splendor tints the glassy stream,
Pinckney's green island-home yet bears the name
Of one whose virtues share his country's fame,
A soldier proved, without reproach or fear,
A statesman skilled new commonwealths to rear,
To field and forum equally inured,
What arms had won, his eloquence secured;
With stern resolve his country to defend,
He spurned the arrogance of foe and friend;
War crowned him with the laurels of the brave,
And civic garlands Peace as amply gave;
With care he watched the anarchy that waits,
In ambushed strength, to crush revolting states,
And strove with zeal, all jealous fears above,
To bind them fast by ties of social love:
In this alone his generous spirit saw
For peace, security, and rule for law,
Safety from border strife, from foreign foe,
And the long ills that feeble nations know.
With brighter splendor tints the glassy stream,
Pinckney's green island-home yet bears the name
Of one whose virtues share his country's fame,
A soldier proved, without reproach or fear,
A statesman skilled new commonwealths to rear,
To field and forum equally inured,
What arms had won, his eloquence secured;
With stern resolve his country to defend,
He spurned the arrogance of foe and friend;
War crowned him with the laurels of the brave,
And civic garlands Peace as amply gave;
With care he watched the anarchy that waits,
In ambushed strength, to crush revolting states,
And strove with zeal, all jealous fears above,
To bind them fast by ties of social love:
In this alone his generous spirit saw
For peace, security, and rule for law,
Safety from border strife, from foreign foe,
And the long ills that feeble nations know.
Here, every work of patriot duty wrought,
His peaceful shades the veteran statesman sought;
With ready anecdote the livelong day,
Or playful wit, he charmed the grave and gay,
And taught the art to brighten and refine,
With cheerful wisdom, life's unmarked decline.
His peaceful shades the veteran statesman sought;
63
Or playful wit, he charmed the grave and gay,
And taught the art to brighten and refine,
With cheerful wisdom, life's unmarked decline.
With ready sympathy he loved to view
The April sports, and to partake them too;
To watch—at early dawn, when skies are bright,
And dews lie sparkling in the early light
On leaf and flower—the sail and glistening oar,
Launched on the bay from every creek and shore,
The favorite rock, the noted shoal to reach,
Their landmarks tracing on the distant beach,
Far as the eye commands the scene around,
Gay fleets glide swiftly on the shining Sound;
With shouts and taunts the daily race is run,
The sail is furled, the wonted station won,
The line prepared, the hook with caution tried,
The various bait with artful care applied:
All eager—slaves and masters—to behold
Their annual prize, with glittering scales of gold,
To feel the line through glowing fingers glide,
Watch where the victim shows his burnished side,
With patient skill his various efforts foil,
And seize, in triumph, on the conquered soil;
Then boast and jest exultingly proclaim
New trophies added to the victor's fame,
And the broad grin and shining face declare
How true a joy the negro sportsmen share.
The April sports, and to partake them too;
To watch—at early dawn, when skies are bright,
And dews lie sparkling in the early light
On leaf and flower—the sail and glistening oar,
Launched on the bay from every creek and shore,
The favorite rock, the noted shoal to reach,
Their landmarks tracing on the distant beach,
Far as the eye commands the scene around,
Gay fleets glide swiftly on the shining Sound;
With shouts and taunts the daily race is run,
The sail is furled, the wonted station won,
The line prepared, the hook with caution tried,
The various bait with artful care applied:
All eager—slaves and masters—to behold
Their annual prize, with glittering scales of gold,
To feel the line through glowing fingers glide,
Watch where the victim shows his burnished side,
With patient skill his various efforts foil,
And seize, in triumph, on the conquered soil;
Then boast and jest exultingly proclaim
New trophies added to the victor's fame,
And the broad grin and shining face declare
How true a joy the negro sportsmen share.
Now, with declining day, on every hand,
The loaded boats turn slowly to the land,
Spread the light sail, or ply the bending oar,
And seek warm shelter on the wooded shore:
The boat song's chorus, with its wonted charm,
Imparts new vigor to each sturdy arm;
The camp, the hamlet catch the well-known note,
Expect the spoil, and hail the welcome boat.
64
Spread the light sail, or ply the bending oar,
And seek warm shelter on the wooded shore:
The boat song's chorus, with its wonted charm,
Imparts new vigor to each sturdy arm;
The camp, the hamlet catch the well-known note,
Expect the spoil, and hail the welcome boat.
With sharpened appetite, the joyous crews
Prolong their feast of savory steaks and stews,
And join, where camp-fires glimmer through the trees,
The light laugh floating on the western breeze;
Describe the fish and fortunes of the day,
How sly the bite, how beautiful the play;
Tell with the grave face the superstitious charm
That wrought the fisherman success or harm;
Recount the feats of fishing or of fun,
In other days, by older sportsmen done;
In dreams renew their triumphs through the night,
And wake to others with the dawning light.
Not Marshfield's master, in the palmiest day,
For feast or fish could readier skill display,
Chowder expound with more consummate art,
At the full trencher play a manlier part,
Or, more secure from each intrusive care,
The joy participate and feast prepare.
Prolong their feast of savory steaks and stews,
And join, where camp-fires glimmer through the trees,
The light laugh floating on the western breeze;
Describe the fish and fortunes of the day,
How sly the bite, how beautiful the play;
Tell with the grave face the superstitious charm
That wrought the fisherman success or harm;
Recount the feats of fishing or of fun,
In other days, by older sportsmen done;
In dreams renew their triumphs through the night,
And wake to others with the dawning light.
Not Marshfield's master, in the palmiest day,
For feast or fish could readier skill display,
Chowder expound with more consummate art,
At the full trencher play a manlier part,
Or, more secure from each intrusive care,
The joy participate and feast prepare.
Not Elliott, early trained, with easy skill,
Old Walton's various offices to fill,
The sport to lead, the willing ear beguile,
And charm with rare felicity of style,
The straining line with nicer art employs,
With keener zest the manly sport enjoys,
Or takes the fish and fortunes of the day,
Sunshine or shower, more buoyantly gay.
Old Walton's various offices to fill,
65
And charm with rare felicity of style,
The straining line with nicer art employs,
With keener zest the manly sport enjoys,
Or takes the fish and fortunes of the day,
Sunshine or shower, more buoyantly gay.
But if the wayward fish refuse the bait,
If floating lines for slacker tides await,
Its trick and fun the idle moment brings,
From boat to boat light-hearted laughter rings;
The novice starts alarmed, his slumber broke
By the sly veteran's oft-repeated joke,
Or Dupe or Jester, stretched in dreamless sleep,
Lie rocked by billows rolling from the deep,
Fanned by the southern breeze, that on its wings,
From the blue sea refreshing coolness brings:
Now roused by hunger, every hand explores
The well-filled box, and culls its ample stores—
Fish from the morning feast; the bounteous maize,
Of grist or flour, an ampler dish displays;
With appetite unsated to the last,
They feast, and kings may covet the repast.
If floating lines for slacker tides await,
Its trick and fun the idle moment brings,
From boat to boat light-hearted laughter rings;
The novice starts alarmed, his slumber broke
By the sly veteran's oft-repeated joke,
Or Dupe or Jester, stretched in dreamless sleep,
Lie rocked by billows rolling from the deep,
Fanned by the southern breeze, that on its wings,
From the blue sea refreshing coolness brings:
Now roused by hunger, every hand explores
The well-filled box, and culls its ample stores—
Fish from the morning feast; the bounteous maize,
Of grist or flour, an ampler dish displays;
With appetite unsated to the last,
They feast, and kings may covet the repast.
Or more alert the crew, on pleasure bent,
In the gay race the idle hour is spent;
The anchors lifted from their oozy bed,
The long lines coiled, the snowy canvas spread;
With pennants streaming, on the sparkling bay
Their speed or skill the swifter boats display;
The Gull and Falcon stretch their pointed wings,
Through the light foam the rapid Dolphin springs,
The peerless Nautilus, with broader sail,
Skims the green wave, and courts the fresh'ning gale.
In the gay race the idle hour is spent;
The anchors lifted from their oozy bed,
The long lines coiled, the snowy canvas spread;
With pennants streaming, on the sparkling bay
Their speed or skill the swifter boats display;
The Gull and Falcon stretch their pointed wings,
66
The peerless Nautilus, with broader sail,
Skims the green wave, and courts the fresh'ning gale.
But other scenes attract the sportsman's gaze,
And turn his wandering thoughts to other days,
When on these streams the Indian's swift canoe,
Light as the gull, to sport or battle flew;
Light as the noisy flocks that meet the eye,
On restless pinions flitting gayly by;
A tameless ocean-brood that love to rove
The shore and sea, but shun the quiet grove,
In idle sport they chase and are pursued,
With sudden dart surprise their minnow food,
The rising diver watch, the well-earned prize
Snatch from his bill with sharp, exulting cries,
Or in the stream their glossy plumage lave,
And sit with graceful lightness on the wave.
And turn his wandering thoughts to other days,
When on these streams the Indian's swift canoe,
Light as the gull, to sport or battle flew;
Light as the noisy flocks that meet the eye,
On restless pinions flitting gayly by;
A tameless ocean-brood that love to rove
The shore and sea, but shun the quiet grove,
In idle sport they chase and are pursued,
With sudden dart surprise their minnow food,
The rising diver watch, the well-earned prize
Snatch from his bill with sharp, exulting cries,
Or in the stream their glossy plumage lave,
And sit with graceful lightness on the wave.
Aloft the fish-hawk wings his wary way,
Stops, turns, and watches the incautious prey;
Quick, as the fish attracts his piercing eye,
With fluttered wings a moment poised on high,
Headlong he plunges with unerring aim,
In iron claws secures the struggling game,
Upward again his joyous flight resumes,
And shakes the water from his ruffled plumes.
Stops, turns, and watches the incautious prey;
Quick, as the fish attracts his piercing eye,
With fluttered wings a moment poised on high,
Headlong he plunges with unerring aim,
In iron claws secures the struggling game,
Upward again his joyous flight resumes,
And shakes the water from his ruffled plumes.
Vain is his joy! The eagle's watch explores
The busy scene from Edings' distant shores;
Perched on the pine or live-oak's blasted height,
His wing half folded, and prepared for flight,
With neck outstretched he sits, and flashing eye
Bent on the hawk that hovers lightly by,
Sees the bold plunge, the shining victim sees,
And spreads his dusky pinions to the breeze;
Swift as the shaft just darted from the bow,
Or the sharp flash that cleaves the clouds below,
The hawk perceives the dread aerial king,
Quails at the shadow of the broad dark wing,
Ceases in circling sweeps to scale the sky,
And drops his treasure with indignant cry;
Swooping with matchless power and rushing sound,
Before the falling prize can reach the ground,
In graceful curve, the eagle meets his spoil,
The plundered product of another's toil,
Regains his perch that far o'erlooks the main,
Feasts with fierce eye, and holds his watch again.
The busy scene from Edings' distant shores;
Perched on the pine or live-oak's blasted height,
His wing half folded, and prepared for flight,
67
Bent on the hawk that hovers lightly by,
Sees the bold plunge, the shining victim sees,
And spreads his dusky pinions to the breeze;
Swift as the shaft just darted from the bow,
Or the sharp flash that cleaves the clouds below,
The hawk perceives the dread aerial king,
Quails at the shadow of the broad dark wing,
Ceases in circling sweeps to scale the sky,
And drops his treasure with indignant cry;
Swooping with matchless power and rushing sound,
Before the falling prize can reach the ground,
In graceful curve, the eagle meets his spoil,
The plundered product of another's toil,
Regains his perch that far o'erlooks the main,
Feasts with fierce eye, and holds his watch again.
So the mailed baron, with the dawning light,
Watched the broad valley from his castled height;
If far below, dense clouds of mist between,
The passing burgher's flocks and herds were seen,
The merchant troop from Orient climes returned,
With pearls and gold by toil and peril earned,
Down swooped the pennon from the feudal hold,
And clutched the flocks, the costly gems and gold;
Safe on the rocky perch, in wassail rude
Spent the long night, and watch at morn renewed.
Watched the broad valley from his castled height;
If far below, dense clouds of mist between,
The passing burgher's flocks and herds were seen,
The merchant troop from Orient climes returned,
With pearls and gold by toil and peril earned,
Down swooped the pennon from the feudal hold,
And clutched the flocks, the costly gems and gold;
Safe on the rocky perch, in wassail rude
Spent the long night, and watch at morn renewed.
Bright streams and isles, how memory loves to trace
Its boyish sports in each familiar place,
By wood and wave with joy renewed to dwell,
And live again the life once loved so well:
Still, with the scene, old faces reappear,
Voices, long silent, meet the musing ear,
And many a hamlet, gleaming on the shore,
Recalls a friend whose sports and toils are o'er.
Can ceaseless cares for power and place impart
Scenes such as these to charm and mend the heart?
The blue arch resting on the distant trees,
The bright wave curling to the ocean breeze,
The dewy woods that greet the rising sun,
The clouds that close the golden circuit run,
Rolled in bright masses of a thousand dyes,
A pomp and glory in the western skies.
Here every flower that gems the forest sod
May guide the heart from Nature to its God,
And higher hopes and purer joys bestow
Than the poor slaves of faction ever know,
When demagogues have won, with brazen throat,
The loudest cheer and most triumphant vote.
Even when nor party nor a people's voice,
But Providence itself hath made the choice,
And lifts the man, whom worth and wisdom grace,
To sit in Liberty's supremest place;
Though loved and honored in a nation's eyes,
Though faction's self confess him just and wise,
Still the calm home, where peace and virtue dwell,
Charms with a silent, but a mightier spell;
And Fillmore left, without a sigh, the toys
Of state for homelier but serener joys;
Faithful, like Washington, to order's cause,
And prompt, like him, to vindicate her laws,
Like him, he looked with still reverted eye
To happier scenes than office can supply,
Turned from the noisy hall, the coarse debate,
The curse of patronage and frauds of state,
The caucus juggler and his pliant tool,
The slaves of party and its tyrant rule,
The knavish arts that demagogues employ,
Lies that supplant, and whispers that destroy;
Whose work would shame the honest hand of toil,
Whose love of country means the love of spoil,
Who, for their party, wrong their nearest friends,
Betray that party for their private ends,
Pursue with subtle craft, by fraud and force,
The patriot-trade—the scoundrel's last resource;
Deplore the people's wrong, inflame their rage,
In factious brawls for fancied ills engage,
Hot with unmeasured zeal—till office fills
Their itching palms, and cures all wrongs and ills;
From these he turned—from falsehood, craft, and strife,
To the pure joys that wait on private life
In scenes like this, where forest, stream and sky
Speak in charmed accents to the gazer's eye,
And Nature's voiceless eloquence imparts
Her hopes and joys to renovated hearts.
68
By wood and wave with joy renewed to dwell,
And live again the life once loved so well:
Still, with the scene, old faces reappear,
Voices, long silent, meet the musing ear,
And many a hamlet, gleaming on the shore,
Recalls a friend whose sports and toils are o'er.
Can ceaseless cares for power and place impart
Scenes such as these to charm and mend the heart?
The blue arch resting on the distant trees,
The bright wave curling to the ocean breeze,
The dewy woods that greet the rising sun,
The clouds that close the golden circuit run,
Rolled in bright masses of a thousand dyes,
A pomp and glory in the western skies.
Here every flower that gems the forest sod
May guide the heart from Nature to its God,
And higher hopes and purer joys bestow
Than the poor slaves of faction ever know,
When demagogues have won, with brazen throat,
The loudest cheer and most triumphant vote.
Even when nor party nor a people's voice,
But Providence itself hath made the choice,
And lifts the man, whom worth and wisdom grace,
To sit in Liberty's supremest place;
Though loved and honored in a nation's eyes,
Though faction's self confess him just and wise,
Still the calm home, where peace and virtue dwell,
Charms with a silent, but a mightier spell;
69
Of state for homelier but serener joys;
Faithful, like Washington, to order's cause,
And prompt, like him, to vindicate her laws,
Like him, he looked with still reverted eye
To happier scenes than office can supply,
Turned from the noisy hall, the coarse debate,
The curse of patronage and frauds of state,
The caucus juggler and his pliant tool,
The slaves of party and its tyrant rule,
The knavish arts that demagogues employ,
Lies that supplant, and whispers that destroy;
Whose work would shame the honest hand of toil,
Whose love of country means the love of spoil,
Who, for their party, wrong their nearest friends,
Betray that party for their private ends,
Pursue with subtle craft, by fraud and force,
The patriot-trade—the scoundrel's last resource;
Deplore the people's wrong, inflame their rage,
In factious brawls for fancied ills engage,
Hot with unmeasured zeal—till office fills
Their itching palms, and cures all wrongs and ills;
From these he turned—from falsehood, craft, and strife,
To the pure joys that wait on private life
In scenes like this, where forest, stream and sky
Speak in charmed accents to the gazer's eye,
And Nature's voiceless eloquence imparts
Her hopes and joys to renovated hearts.
70
And even here, if Sorrow finds her way,
If, as they will, these hopes and joys decay,
Nor talents guard, nor charms of temper save,
Nor virtues shield the loved one from the grave;
While worldly turmoil wrings the mourner's heart,
Home's quiet scenes a soothing balm impart,
Faith here has room to spread her heavenward wing,
Hope strips the baffled conqueror of his sting,
The heart communes with spirits from above,
And for a mortal's finds an angel's love;
By wood and stream, where twilight walks beguile,
Hears the soft voice, and sees the undying smile.
If, as they will, these hopes and joys decay,
Nor talents guard, nor charms of temper save,
Nor virtues shield the loved one from the grave;
While worldly turmoil wrings the mourner's heart,
Home's quiet scenes a soothing balm impart,
Faith here has room to spread her heavenward wing,
Hope strips the baffled conqueror of his sting,
The heart communes with spirits from above,
And for a mortal's finds an angel's love;
By wood and stream, where twilight walks beguile,
Hears the soft voice, and sees the undying smile.
He, too, that sorrows for another's woes,
And early dead, the same sad fortune knows,
Hears at the midnight hour the fevered groan,
The cry of mortal pain, the dying moan;
With trembling hand attempts at last to close
The rayless eyes, the lifeless limbs compose,
Sees the brave, gentle bosom fill the grave,
And mourns the son he could have died to save.
And early dead, the same sad fortune knows,
Hears at the midnight hour the fevered groan,
The cry of mortal pain, the dying moan;
With trembling hand attempts at last to close
The rayless eyes, the lifeless limbs compose,
Sees the brave, gentle bosom fill the grave,
And mourns the son he could have died to save.
To other griefs that changeful life supplies,
Griefs of a race, awakened Memory flies,
And backward as she turns her thoughtful view,
The vanished Indian seems to live anew;
Low voices whisper round from stream and bay,
The mournful tale of nations passed away;
And names, like spirits of the buried race,
Of plaintive sweetness, tell their dwelling-place;
On every isle, in every field and wood,
Shells show, in heaps, where once the wigwam stood;
Spear-points of flint and arrow-heads are found,
Fragments of pottery strew the haunted ground,
And barrows broad, with ancient trees o'erspread,
Still hold the relics of the warrior dead—
Relics of tribes and nations that of yore
Welcomed the Saxon stranger to the shore;
Then masters of the land, with matchless skill,
They chased the deer by valley, plain, and hill,
Through gloomy forests sought a nobler game,
And won, with pride, the warrior's sterner fame;
Where moose and elk their fragrant forest home
In wastes of fir by Madawaska roam;
Where, on his breast, Potomac loves to trace
The patriot's home and hallowed resting place;
In quiet beauty, where Saluda flows;
Catawba rushes from his mountain snows;
Through the lost Eden of the Cherokee,
Where Tallapoosa seeks the Southern sea;
Where slow Oscilla winds his gentler tides,
By cypress shadow where Suwannee glides;
Where, crowned with woods, the Appalachians rise,
The Blue Ridge blends its summit with the skies,
Long rolling waves break foaming from the deep,
And Erie's ocean thunders down the steep;
Lords of the lake, the shore, the stream, the wood,
Painted and plumed, the giant warriors stood,
With presents filled the feeble stranger's hand,
And hailed his coming to the Red Man's land;
Now from these homes expelled, in seeming rest,
A hopeless remnant, cowering in the West,
They linger till the surge of millions come
To sweep them headlong from their transient home;
Vainly the gentle wish, the gen'rous strive
To save the helpless wanderers that survive,
Lure them from sloth, from ignorance and strife,
And make them learn the social arts of life;
In vain, with adverse will, the Indian tries
To win the bread that toil or art supplies,
Like their wild woods before the Saxon's sway,
The native nations wither and decay;
The same their doom where wars the forest sweep,
Like winter torrents rushing to the deep,
Or where the tides of peace more slowly eat
As sure a passage to their last retreat;
Wher'er their lot, with Puritan or Friend,
Friendship and hatred bring one common end;
Chieftain and brave have vanished from the scene,
And memory hardly tells that they have been.
Griefs of a race, awakened Memory flies,
And backward as she turns her thoughtful view,
The vanished Indian seems to live anew;
Low voices whisper round from stream and bay,
The mournful tale of nations passed away;
And names, like spirits of the buried race,
Of plaintive sweetness, tell their dwelling-place;
On every isle, in every field and wood,
71
Spear-points of flint and arrow-heads are found,
Fragments of pottery strew the haunted ground,
And barrows broad, with ancient trees o'erspread,
Still hold the relics of the warrior dead—
Relics of tribes and nations that of yore
Welcomed the Saxon stranger to the shore;
Then masters of the land, with matchless skill,
They chased the deer by valley, plain, and hill,
Through gloomy forests sought a nobler game,
And won, with pride, the warrior's sterner fame;
Where moose and elk their fragrant forest home
In wastes of fir by Madawaska roam;
Where, on his breast, Potomac loves to trace
The patriot's home and hallowed resting place;
In quiet beauty, where Saluda flows;
Catawba rushes from his mountain snows;
Through the lost Eden of the Cherokee,
Where Tallapoosa seeks the Southern sea;
Where slow Oscilla winds his gentler tides,
By cypress shadow where Suwannee glides;
Where, crowned with woods, the Appalachians rise,
The Blue Ridge blends its summit with the skies,
Long rolling waves break foaming from the deep,
And Erie's ocean thunders down the steep;
Lords of the lake, the shore, the stream, the wood,
Painted and plumed, the giant warriors stood,
With presents filled the feeble stranger's hand,
And hailed his coming to the Red Man's land;
72
A hopeless remnant, cowering in the West,
They linger till the surge of millions come
To sweep them headlong from their transient home;
Vainly the gentle wish, the gen'rous strive
To save the helpless wanderers that survive,
Lure them from sloth, from ignorance and strife,
And make them learn the social arts of life;
In vain, with adverse will, the Indian tries
To win the bread that toil or art supplies,
Like their wild woods before the Saxon's sway,
The native nations wither and decay;
The same their doom where wars the forest sweep,
Like winter torrents rushing to the deep,
Or where the tides of peace more slowly eat
As sure a passage to their last retreat;
Wher'er their lot, with Puritan or Friend,
Friendship and hatred bring one common end;
Chieftain and brave have vanished from the scene,
And memory hardly tells that they have been.
Such, too, the fate the negro must deplore,
If slavery guard his subject race no more,
If by weak friends or vicious counsels led
To change his blessings for the hireling's bread.
Cheated by idle hopes, he vainly tries
To tempt the fortune that his strength denies,
Quits the safe port, deserts the peaceful shore,
An unknown sea of peril to explore;
Hard the long toil the hireling bread to gain,
Slight is his power life's battle to maintain;
And war's swift sword, or peace, with slow decay,
Must, like the Indian, sweep his race away.
If slavery guard his subject race no more,
If by weak friends or vicious counsels led
To change his blessings for the hireling's bread.
Cheated by idle hopes, he vainly tries
To tempt the fortune that his strength denies,
Quits the safe port, deserts the peaceful shore,
An unknown sea of peril to explore;
Hard the long toil the hireling bread to gain,
73
And war's swift sword, or peace, with slow decay,
Must, like the Indian, sweep his race away.
Swift is the doom where temperate climes invite
To fruitful soils the labors of the white;
Where no foul vapor taints the morning air
And bracing frosts his wasted strength repair;
Where Europe's hordes, from home and hunger fled,
Task every nerve and ready art for bread,
Rush to each work, the calls for labor yield,
And bear no sable brother in the field;
There in suburban dens and human sties,
In foul excesses sunk, the negro lies;
A moral pestilence to taint and stain,
His life a curse, his death a social gain,
Debased, despised, the Northern Pariah knows
He shares no good that liberty bestows;
Spurned from her gifts, with each successive year,
In drunken want his numbers disappear.
To fruitful soils the labors of the white;
Where no foul vapor taints the morning air
And bracing frosts his wasted strength repair;
Where Europe's hordes, from home and hunger fled,
Task every nerve and ready art for bread,
Rush to each work, the calls for labor yield,
And bear no sable brother in the field;
There in suburban dens and human sties,
In foul excesses sunk, the negro lies;
A moral pestilence to taint and stain,
His life a curse, his death a social gain,
Debased, despised, the Northern Pariah knows
He shares no good that liberty bestows;
Spurned from her gifts, with each successive year,
In drunken want his numbers disappear.
In tropic climes, where Nature's bounteous hand
Pours ceaseless blessings on the teeming land,
And, with the fruits and flowers that she bestows,
Fierce fevers lurk, the white man's deadliest foes,
More safe the negro seems—his sluggish race
Luxuriates in the hot, congenial place—
A lotus-bearing paradise, that flows
With all the lazy joys the negro knows,
Where all day long, beneath the tamarisk shade,
Stretched on his back, in scanty garb arrayed,
With sated appetite, in sensual ease,
Fanned into slumber by the listless breeze,
A careless life of indolence he lives,
Fed by the fruits perpetual summer gives:
Yet here, unguided by Caucasian skill,
Unurged to labor by a master will,
Abandoned to his native sloth, that knows
No state so blessed as undisturbed repose,
With no restraint that struggling virtue needs,
With every vice that lazy pleasure breeds,
His life to savage indolence he yields,
To weeds and jungle, the deserted fields;
Where once the mansion rose, the garden smiled,
Where art and labor tamed the tropic wild,
Their hard-wrought trophies sink into decay,
The wilderness again resumes its sway,
Rank weeds displace the labors of the spade,
And reptiles crawl where joyous infants played.
Pours ceaseless blessings on the teeming land,
And, with the fruits and flowers that she bestows,
Fierce fevers lurk, the white man's deadliest foes,
More safe the negro seems—his sluggish race
Luxuriates in the hot, congenial place—
A lotus-bearing paradise, that flows
With all the lazy joys the negro knows,
Where all day long, beneath the tamarisk shade,
Stretched on his back, in scanty garb arrayed,
74
Fanned into slumber by the listless breeze,
A careless life of indolence he lives,
Fed by the fruits perpetual summer gives:
Yet here, unguided by Caucasian skill,
Unurged to labor by a master will,
Abandoned to his native sloth, that knows
No state so blessed as undisturbed repose,
With no restraint that struggling virtue needs,
With every vice that lazy pleasure breeds,
His life to savage indolence he yields,
To weeds and jungle, the deserted fields;
Where once the mansion rose, the garden smiled,
Where art and labor tamed the tropic wild,
Their hard-wrought trophies sink into decay,
The wilderness again resumes its sway,
Rank weeds displace the labors of the spade,
And reptiles crawl where joyous infants played.
Such now the negro's life, such wrecks appear
Of former affluence, industry, and care,
On Hayti's plains, where once her golden stores
Gave their best commerce to the Gallic shores;
While yet no foul revolt or servile strife
Marred the calm tenor of the negro's life,
And lured his mind—with mimicry elate
Of titled nobles and imperial state—
From useful labor, savage wars to wage,
To glut with massacre a demon's rage,
Forget the Christian in the pagan rite,
And serve a negro master for a white.
Of former affluence, industry, and care,
On Hayti's plains, where once her golden stores
Gave their best commerce to the Gallic shores;
While yet no foul revolt or servile strife
Marred the calm tenor of the negro's life,
And lured his mind—with mimicry elate
Of titled nobles and imperial state—
From useful labor, savage wars to wage,
To glut with massacre a demon's rage,
Forget the Christian in the pagan rite,
75
But even, in climes like this, a fated power
In patient ambush waits the coming hour,
When to new regions war and want shall drive
Its swarms of hunger from the parent hive,
And Europe's multitudes again demand
Its boundless riches from the willing land
That now, in vain luxuriance, idly lies,
And yields no harvest to the genial skies,
Then shall the ape of empire meet its doom,
Black peer and prince their ancient task resume,
Renounce the mimicries of war and state,
And useful labor strive to emulate.
In patient ambush waits the coming hour,
When to new regions war and want shall drive
Its swarms of hunger from the parent hive,
And Europe's multitudes again demand
Its boundless riches from the willing land
That now, in vain luxuriance, idly lies,
And yields no harvest to the genial skies,
Then shall the ape of empire meet its doom,
Black peer and prince their ancient task resume,
Renounce the mimicries of war and state,
And useful labor strive to emulate.
Why peril, then, the negro's humble joys,
Why make him free, if freedom but destroys?
Why take him from that lot that now bestows
More than the negro elsewhere ever knows—
Home, clothing, food, light labor, and content,
Childhood in play, and age in quiet spent,
To vex his life with factious strife and broil,
To crush his nature with unwonted toil,
To see him, like the Indian tribes, a prey
To war or peace, destruction or decay?
Why make him free, if freedom but destroys?
Why take him from that lot that now bestows
More than the negro elsewhere ever knows—
Home, clothing, food, light labor, and content,
Childhood in play, and age in quiet spent,
To vex his life with factious strife and broil,
To crush his nature with unwonted toil,
To see him, like the Indian tribes, a prey
To war or peace, destruction or decay?
Not such his fate Philanthropy replies,
His horoscope is drawn from happier skies;
Bonds soon shall cease to be the negro's lot,
Mere race-distinctions shall be all forgot,
And white and black amalgamating, prove
The charms that Stone admires, of mongrel love,
Erase the lines that erring nature draws
To sever races, and rescind her laws;
Reverse the rule that stupid farmers heed,
And mend the higher by the coarser breed;
Or prove the world's long history false, and find
Wit, wisdom, genius in the negro mind;
If not intended thus, in time, to blend
In one bronze-colored breed, what then the end?
What purposed good, like that which brought before
The Hebrew seer to Nile's mysterious shore,
Brings the dusk children of the burning zone
To toil in fields and forests not their own?
His horoscope is drawn from happier skies;
Bonds soon shall cease to be the negro's lot,
Mere race-distinctions shall be all forgot,
And white and black amalgamating, prove
The charms that Stone admires, of mongrel love,
76
To sever races, and rescind her laws;
Reverse the rule that stupid farmers heed,
And mend the higher by the coarser breed;
Or prove the world's long history false, and find
Wit, wisdom, genius in the negro mind;
If not intended thus, in time, to blend
In one bronze-colored breed, what then the end?
What purposed good, like that which brought before
The Hebrew seer to Nile's mysterious shore,
Brings the dusk children of the burning zone
To toil in fields and forests not their own?
They come where summer suns intensely blaze,
And Celt and Saxon shun the fatal rays;
Where gay savannas bloom, wild forests rise,
And prairies spread beneath unwholesome skies;
Where Mississippi's broad alluvial lands
Demand the labor of unnumbered hands,
With promised gifts from endless hill and vale,
From fields whose riches mock the traveler's tale,
Where nature blossoms in her tropic pride,
All bounties given, but health alone denied;
They come to cleave the forest from the plain,
From the rank soil to rear the golden grain,
The wealth of hill and valley to disclose,
Make the wild desert blossom as the rose,
To all the world unwonted blessings give,
The naked clothe, and bid the starving live;
Where Amazon's imperial valley lies
Untamed and basking under tropic skies
They come, his secret treasures to unfold—
Spices and silks, and gems and countless gold;
For fields of cane his matted woods displace,
For flocks and herds exchange their reptile race,
With tower and city crown the ocean stream,
And make his valley one Arcadian dream.
Slaves of the plow—when duly tasked they bring,
Like the swart genii of the lamp and ring,
Their priceless gifts—their labors yield in time
Unbounded blessings to their native clime;
Though round it, darkly, clouds and mists have rolled,
Of sloth and ignorance, for years untold,
Still, in the future, Faith's prophetic eye,
Beyond the cloud, discerns the promised sky;
Sees happier lands their sable thousands pour,
Missions of love, on Congo's suppliant shore,
Skilled in each useful civilizing art,
With all the power that knowledge can impart,
O'er the wild deep, whose heaving billows seem
Bridged for their passage by assisting steam,
To Africa, their fatherland, they go,
Law, industry, instruction to bestow;
To pour, from Western skies, religious light,
Drive from each hill or vale its pagan rite,
Teach brutal hordes a nobler life to plan,
And change, at last, the savage to the man.
And Celt and Saxon shun the fatal rays;
Where gay savannas bloom, wild forests rise,
And prairies spread beneath unwholesome skies;
Where Mississippi's broad alluvial lands
Demand the labor of unnumbered hands,
With promised gifts from endless hill and vale,
From fields whose riches mock the traveler's tale,
Where nature blossoms in her tropic pride,
All bounties given, but health alone denied;
They come to cleave the forest from the plain,
From the rank soil to rear the golden grain,
The wealth of hill and valley to disclose,
Make the wild desert blossom as the rose,
To all the world unwonted blessings give,
The naked clothe, and bid the starving live;
Where Amazon's imperial valley lies
77
They come, his secret treasures to unfold—
Spices and silks, and gems and countless gold;
For fields of cane his matted woods displace,
For flocks and herds exchange their reptile race,
With tower and city crown the ocean stream,
And make his valley one Arcadian dream.
Slaves of the plow—when duly tasked they bring,
Like the swart genii of the lamp and ring,
Their priceless gifts—their labors yield in time
Unbounded blessings to their native clime;
Though round it, darkly, clouds and mists have rolled,
Of sloth and ignorance, for years untold,
Still, in the future, Faith's prophetic eye,
Beyond the cloud, discerns the promised sky;
Sees happier lands their sable thousands pour,
Missions of love, on Congo's suppliant shore,
Skilled in each useful civilizing art,
With all the power that knowledge can impart,
O'er the wild deep, whose heaving billows seem
Bridged for their passage by assisting steam,
To Africa, their fatherland, they go,
Law, industry, instruction to bestow;
To pour, from Western skies, religious light,
Drive from each hill or vale its pagan rite,
Teach brutal hordes a nobler life to plan,
And change, at last, the savage to the man.
Exulting millions, through their native land,
From Gambia's river to Angola's strand,
Where Niger's fountain-head the traveler shuns,
And mountain snows are bright with tropic suns,
See, spreading inward from the Atlantic shore,
Industrial skill and arts unknown before;
Through the broad valleys populous cities rise,
With gilded domes, and spires that court the skies,
Forests, for countless years the tiger's lair,
Yield their glad acres to the shining share;
Where once, along the interminable plain,
The weary traveler dragged his steps with pain,
In iron lines continuous roads proceed,
And steam outstrips the ostrich in its speed;
Timbuctoo's towers and fabled walls, that seem
The fabric only of a traveler's dream,
Spread, a broad mart, where commerce brings her stores
Of gems and gold from earth's remotest shores;
Wealth, art, refinement, follow in her train,
Learning applauds a new Augustan reign,
To tropic suns her fruits and flowers unfold,
And Libya hails, at last, her age of gold.
From Gambia's river to Angola's strand,
78
And mountain snows are bright with tropic suns,
See, spreading inward from the Atlantic shore,
Industrial skill and arts unknown before;
Through the broad valleys populous cities rise,
With gilded domes, and spires that court the skies,
Forests, for countless years the tiger's lair,
Yield their glad acres to the shining share;
Where once, along the interminable plain,
The weary traveler dragged his steps with pain,
In iron lines continuous roads proceed,
And steam outstrips the ostrich in its speed;
Timbuctoo's towers and fabled walls, that seem
The fabric only of a traveler's dream,
Spread, a broad mart, where commerce brings her stores
Of gems and gold from earth's remotest shores;
Wealth, art, refinement, follow in her train,
Learning applauds a new Augustan reign,
To tropic suns her fruits and flowers unfold,
And Libya hails, at last, her age of gold.
For these great ends hath Heaven's supreme command
Brought the black savage from his native land,
Trains for each purpose his barbarian mind,
By slavery tamed, enlightened, and refined;
Instructs him, from a master-race, to draw
Wise modes of polity and forms of law,
Imbues his soul with faith, his heart with love,
Shapes all his life by dictates from above,
And, to a grateful world, resolves at last
The puzzling question of all ages past,
Revealing to the Christian's gladdened eyes
How Gospel light may dawn from Libya's skies,
Disperse the mists that darken and deprave,
And shine with power to civilize and save.
Brought the black savage from his native land,
Trains for each purpose his barbarian mind,
By slavery tamed, enlightened, and refined;
Instructs him, from a master-race, to draw
Wise modes of polity and forms of law,
Imbues his soul with faith, his heart with love,
79
And, to a grateful world, resolves at last
The puzzling question of all ages past,
Revealing to the Christian's gladdened eyes
How Gospel light may dawn from Libya's skies,
Disperse the mists that darken and deprave,
And shine with power to civilize and save.
Let, then, the master still his course pursue,
“With heart and hope” perform his mission too;
Heaven's ruling power confessed, with patient care
The end subserve, the fitting means prepare,
In faith unshaken guide, restrain, command,
With strong and steady, yet indulgent hand,
Justly, “as in the great Taskmaster's eye,”
His task perform—the negro's wants supply,
The negro's hand to useful arts incline,
His mind enlarge, his moral sense refine,
With Gospel truth his simple heart engage,
To his dull eyes unseal its sacred page,
By gradual steps his feebler nature raise,
Deserve, if not receive, the good man's praise;
The factious knave defy, and meddling fool,
The pulpit brawler and his lawless tool,
Scorn the grave cant, the supercilious sneer,
The mawkish sentiment and maudlin tear,
Assured that God all human power bestows,
Controls its uses, and its purpose knows,
And that each lot on earth to mortals given,
Its duties duly done, is blessed of Heaven.
“With heart and hope” perform his mission too;
Heaven's ruling power confessed, with patient care
The end subserve, the fitting means prepare,
In faith unshaken guide, restrain, command,
With strong and steady, yet indulgent hand,
Justly, “as in the great Taskmaster's eye,”
His task perform—the negro's wants supply,
The negro's hand to useful arts incline,
His mind enlarge, his moral sense refine,
With Gospel truth his simple heart engage,
To his dull eyes unseal its sacred page,
By gradual steps his feebler nature raise,
Deserve, if not receive, the good man's praise;
The factious knave defy, and meddling fool,
The pulpit brawler and his lawless tool,
Scorn the grave cant, the supercilious sneer,
The mawkish sentiment and maudlin tear,
Assured that God all human power bestows,
Controls its uses, and its purpose knows,
And that each lot on earth to mortals given,
Its duties duly done, is blessed of Heaven.
| Selected poems by William J. Grayson | |