A Specimen of the Bilsdale Dialect or, Two Poems on Isaac Telltruth and Sammy Standfast [by John Castillo] |
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The Negroe's Complaint.
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 | A Specimen of the Bilsdale Dialect |  |
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The Negroe's Complaint.
Forc'd from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlone,
To increase a strangers treasures,
O'er the raging billows borne:
Men from England, bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though their's they have enroll'd me,
Minds are never to be sold.
Afric's coast I left forlone,
To increase a strangers treasures,
O'er the raging billows borne:
Men from England, bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though their's they have enroll'd me,
Minds are never to be sold.
Still, in thought, as free as ever,
What are England's rights,—I ask?
Me from my delights to sever?
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks and black complexion,
Cannot forfeit nature's claim;
Skins may differ, but affection,
Dwells in white and black the same.
What are England's rights,—I ask?
Me from my delights to sever?
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks and black complexion,
Cannot forfeit nature's claim;
Skins may differ, but affection,
Dwells in white and black the same.
Why did all creating nature,
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it; tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil:
Think, ye masters, ironhearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards;
Think, how many blacks have smarted,
For the sweets your cane affords.
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it; tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil:
Think, ye masters, ironhearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards;
Think, how many blacks have smarted,
For the sweets your cane affords.
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Is there—as you sometimes tell us?—
Is there One, that reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne, the sky?
Ask him,—if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood extorting screws;
Are the means which duty urges,
Agents of his will to use.
Is there One, that reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne, the sky?
Ask him,—if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood extorting screws;
Are the means which duty urges,
Agents of his will to use.
Hark! he answers,—wild tornados,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks,
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks;
He, forseeing what vexations,
Afric's sons should undergo,
Fix'd their tyrants habitations,
Where the whirlwinds answer,—no.
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks,
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks;
He, forseeing what vexations,
Afric's sons should undergo,
Fix'd their tyrants habitations,
Where the whirlwinds answer,—no.
By our blood in Afric wasted,
E're our necks receiv'd the chain;
By the miseries that we tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main;
By our sufferings since you brought us,
To the man degrading mart;
All sustain'd by patience taught us,
Only by a broken heart:—
E're our necks receiv'd the chain;
By the miseries that we tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main;
By our sufferings since you brought us,
To the man degrading mart;
All sustain'd by patience taught us,
Only by a broken heart:—
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Deem our nation, brutes no longer,
Till some reason you shall find,
Worthier of regard, and stronger
Than the colour of our kind;
Slaves of gold,—whose sorded dealings,
Tarnish all your boasted powers,—
Prove, that you have human feelings,
'Ere you proudly question ours.
Till some reason you shall find,
Worthier of regard, and stronger
Than the colour of our kind;
Slaves of gold,—whose sorded dealings,
Tarnish all your boasted powers,—
Prove, that you have human feelings,
'Ere you proudly question ours.
| A Specimen of the Bilsdale Dialect | |