 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
201
THE AFRICAN CHIEF.
See how the black ship cleaves the main,
High bounding o'er the dark blue wave,
Remurmuring with the groans of pain,
Deep freighted with the princely slave!
High bounding o'er the dark blue wave,
Remurmuring with the groans of pain,
Deep freighted with the princely slave!
Did all the Gods of Afric sleep,
Forgetful of their guardian love,
When the white tyrants of the deep,
Betrayed him in the palmy grove.
Forgetful of their guardian love,
When the white tyrants of the deep,
Betrayed him in the palmy grove.
A Chief of Gambia's golden shore,
Whose arm the band of warriors led,
Or more—the lord of generous power,
By whom the foodless poor were fed.
Whose arm the band of warriors led,
Or more—the lord of generous power,
By whom the foodless poor were fed.
Does not the voice of reason cry,
Claim the first right that nature gave,
From the red scourge of bondage fly,
Nor deign to live a burdened slave.
Claim the first right that nature gave,
From the red scourge of bondage fly,
Nor deign to live a burdened slave.
Has not his suffering offspring clung,
Desponding round his fettered knee;
On his worn shoulder, weeping hung,
And urged one effort to be free!
Desponding round his fettered knee;
On his worn shoulder, weeping hung,
And urged one effort to be free!
His wife by nameless wrongs subdued,
His bosom's friend to death resigned;
The flinty path-way drenched in blood;
He saw with cold and phrenzied mind.
His bosom's friend to death resigned;
The flinty path-way drenched in blood;
He saw with cold and phrenzied mind.
Strong in despair, then sought the plain,
To heaven was raised his stedfast eye,
Resolved to burst the crushing chain,
Or mid the battle's blast to die.
To heaven was raised his stedfast eye,
Resolved to burst the crushing chain,
Or mid the battle's blast to die.
202
First of his race, he led the band,
Guardless of danger, hurling round,
Till by his red avenging hand,
Full many a despot stained the ground.
Guardless of danger, hurling round,
Till by his red avenging hand,
Full many a despot stained the ground.
When erst Messenia's
sons oppressed,
Flew desperate to the sanguine field,
With iron cloathed each injured breast,
And saw the cruel Spartan yield.
The Messenians being conquered by the Spartans, and agreeably to the custom of the age, the miserable remnant led into slavery, under these circumstances were so inhumanly oppressed, that rising, and united in arms, they seized upon a Spartan fortress, and after innumerable injuries, inflicted and reciprocated, finally obtained their freedom.
Flew desperate to the sanguine field,
With iron cloathed each injured breast,
And saw the cruel Spartan yield.
Did not the soul to heaven allied,
With the proud heart as greatly swell,
As when the Roman Decius died,
Or when the Grecian victim fell.
With the proud heart as greatly swell,
As when the Roman Decius died,
Or when the Grecian victim fell.
Do later deeds quick rapture raise,
The boon Batavia's William won,
Paoli's time-enduring praise,
Or the yet greater Washington!
The boon Batavia's William won,
Paoli's time-enduring praise,
Or the yet greater Washington!
If these exalt thy sacred zeal,
To hate oppression's mad controul,
For bleeding Afric learn to feel,
Whose Chieftain claimed a kindred soul.
To hate oppression's mad controul,
For bleeding Afric learn to feel,
Whose Chieftain claimed a kindred soul.
Ah, mourn the last disastrous hour,
Lift the full eye of bootless grief,
While victory treads the sultry shore,
And tears from hope the captive Chief.
Lift the full eye of bootless grief,
While victory treads the sultry shore,
And tears from hope the captive Chief.
While the hard race of pallid hue,
Unpracticed in the power to feel,
Resign him to the murderous crew,
The horrors of the quivering wheel.
Unpracticed in the power to feel,
Resign him to the murderous crew,
The horrors of the quivering wheel.
203
Let sorrow bathe each blushing cheek,
Bend piteous o'er the tortured slave,
Whose wrongs compassion cannot speak,
Whose only refuge was the grave.
Bend piteous o'er the tortured slave,
Whose wrongs compassion cannot speak,
Whose only refuge was the grave.
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |