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 | The anti-slavery poems of John Pierpont |  |
7
‘Was it right,
While my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled,
That I should dream away the entrusted hours
On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart,
With feelings all too delicate for use?’—
Coleridge.
While my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled,
That I should dream away the entrusted hours
On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart,
With feelings all too delicate for use?’—
Coleridge.
PRAYER OF THE CHRISTIAN.
With thy pure dews and rains,
Wash out, O God, the stains,
From Afric's shore;
And, while her palm trees bud,
Let not her children's blood,
With her broad Niger's flood,
Be mingled more!
Wash out, O God, the stains,
From Afric's shore;
And, while her palm trees bud,
Let not her children's blood,
With her broad Niger's flood,
Be mingled more!
Quench, righteous God, the thirst,
That Congo's sons hath cursed—
The thirst for gold!
Shall not thy thunders speak,
Where Mammon's altars reek,
Where maids and matrons shriek,
Bound, bleeding, sold?
That Congo's sons hath cursed—
The thirst for gold!
8
Where Mammon's altars reek,
Where maids and matrons shriek,
Bound, bleeding, sold?
Hear'st thou, O God, those chains,
Clanking on Freedom's plains,
By Christians wrought?
Them, who those chains have worn,
Christians from home have torn,
Christians have hither borne,
Christians have bought!
Clanking on Freedom's plains,
By Christians wrought?
Them, who those chains have worn,
Christians from home have torn,
Christians have hither borne,
Christians have bought!
Cast down, great God, the fanes
That, to unhallowed gains,
Round us have risen—
Temples, whose priesthood pore
Moses and Jesus o'er,
Then bolt the black man's door,
The poor man's prison!
That, to unhallowed gains,
Round us have risen—
Temples, whose priesthood pore
Moses and Jesus o'er,
Then bolt the black man's door,
The poor man's prison!
Wilt thou not, Lord, at last,
From thine own image, cast
Away all cords,
But that of love, which brings
Man, from his wanderings,
Back to the King of kings,
The Lord of lords!
From thine own image, cast
9
But that of love, which brings
Man, from his wanderings,
Back to the King of kings,
The Lord of lords!
1829.
34
SLAVEHOLDER'S ADDRESS TO THE NORTH STAR.
Star of the North, thou art not bigger
Than is the diamond in my ring;
Yet every black, star-gazing nigger
Stares at thee, as at some great thing!
Yes, gazes at thee, till the lazy
And thankless rascal is half crazy.
Than is the diamond in my ring;
Yet every black, star-gazing nigger
Stares at thee, as at some great thing!
Yes, gazes at thee, till the lazy
And thankless rascal is half crazy.
Some Quaker scoundrel must have told 'em
That, if they take their flight tow'rd thee,
They'd get where ‘massa’ cannot hold 'em;
And, therefore, to the North they flee.
Fools! to be led off, where they can't earn
Their living, by thy lying lantern.
That, if they take their flight tow'rd thee,
They'd get where ‘massa’ cannot hold 'em;
And, therefore, to the North they flee.
Fools! to be led off, where they can't earn
Their living, by thy lying lantern.
35
Thou'rt a cold water star, I reckon,
Although I've never seen thee, yet,
When to the bath thy sisters beckon,
Get even thy golden sandals wet;
Nor in the wave have known thee dip,
In our hot nights, thy finger's tip.
Although I've never seen thee, yet,
When to the bath thy sisters beckon,
Get even thy golden sandals wet;
Nor in the wave have known thee dip,
In our hot nights, thy finger's tip.
If thou wouldst, nightly, leave the pole,
To enjoy a regular ablution
In the North Sea, or Symmes's hole,
Our ‘Patriarchal Institution,’
From which thou findest many a ransom,
Would, doubtless, give thee something handsome.
To enjoy a regular ablution
In the North Sea, or Symmes's hole,
Our ‘Patriarchal Institution,’
From which thou findest many a ransom,
Would, doubtless, give thee something handsome.
Although thou'rt a cold water star,
As I have said, I think, already,
Thou'rt hailed, by many a tipsy tar,
Who likes thee just because thou'rt steady,
And hold'st the candle for the rover,
When he is more than ‘half seas over.’
As I have said, I think, already,
Thou'rt hailed, by many a tipsy tar,
Who likes thee just because thou'rt steady,
And hold'st the candle for the rover,
When he is more than ‘half seas over.’
But, while Ham's seed, our land to bless,
‘Increase and multiply’ like rabbits,
We like thee, Yankee Star, the less,
For thy bright eye, and steady habits.
Pray waltz with Venus, star of love,
Or take a bout with reeling Jove.
‘Increase and multiply’ like rabbits,
We like thee, Yankee Star, the less,
36
Pray waltz with Venus, star of love,
Or take a bout with reeling Jove.
Thou art an abolition star,
And to my wench wilt be of use, if her
Dark eye should find thee, ere the car
Of our true old slave-catcher, ‘Lucifer,
Star of the morning,’ upward rolls,
And, with its light, puts out the pole's.
And to my wench wilt be of use, if her
Dark eye should find thee, ere the car
Of our true old slave-catcher, ‘Lucifer,
Star of the morning,’ upward rolls,
And, with its light, puts out the pole's.
On our field hands thou lookest, too—
A sort of nightly overseer—
Canst find no other work to do?
I tell thee, thou'rt not wanted here;
So, pray, shine only on the oceans,
Thou number one of ‘Northern notions.’
A sort of nightly overseer—
Canst find no other work to do?
I tell thee, thou'rt not wanted here;
So, pray, shine only on the oceans,
Thou number one of ‘Northern notions.’
Yes, northern notions,—northern lights!
As hates the devil holy water,
So hate I all that Rogers writes,
Or Weld, that married Grimkè's daughter:—
So hate I all these northern curses,
From Birney's prose to Whittier's verses.
As hates the devil holy water,
So hate I all that Rogers writes,
Or Weld, that married Grimkè's daughter:—
So hate I all these northern curses,
From Birney's prose to Whittier's verses.
37
‘Put out the light!’ exclaimed the Moor—
I think they call his name Othello—
When opening his wife's chamber door
To cut her throat—the princely fellow!
Noblest of all the nigger nation!
File leader in amalgamation!
I think they call his name Othello—
When opening his wife's chamber door
To cut her throat—the princely fellow!
Noblest of all the nigger nation!
File leader in amalgamation!
‘Put out the light!’ and so say I.
Could ‘I quench thee, thou flaming minister,’
No longer, in the northern sky,
Should blaze thy beacon-fire so sinister.
North Star, thy light's unwelcome—very—
We'll vote thee ‘an incendiary.’
Could ‘I quench thee, thou flaming minister,’
No longer, in the northern sky,
Should blaze thy beacon-fire so sinister.
North Star, thy light's unwelcome—very—
We'll vote thee ‘an incendiary.’
And, to our ‘natural allies’—
Our veteran Kinderhook Invincibles,
Who do our bidding, in the guise
Of ‘northern men, with southern principles,’—
Men who have faces firm as dough,
And, as we set their noses, go—
Our veteran Kinderhook Invincibles,
Who do our bidding, in the guise
Of ‘northern men, with southern principles,’—
Men who have faces firm as dough,
And, as we set their noses, go—
To these, we'll get some scribe to write,
And tell them not to let thee shine—
Excepting of a cloudy night—
Any where, south of Dixon's line.
If, beyond that, thou shin'st, an inch,
We'll have thee up before Judge Lynch:—
And tell them not to let thee shine—
Excepting of a cloudy night—
38
If, beyond that, thou shin'st, an inch,
We'll have thee up before Judge Lynch:—
And when, thou abolition star,
Who preachest freedom, in all weathers,
Thou hast got on a coat of tar,
And, over that, a cloak of feathers,
That thou art ‘fixed’ shall none deny,
If there's a fixed star in the sky.
Who preachest freedom, in all weathers,
Thou hast got on a coat of tar,
And, over that, a cloak of feathers,
That thou art ‘fixed’ shall none deny,
If there's a fixed star in the sky.
40
PLYMOUTH ROCK.
Escaped from all the perils of the sea,—Storms, shoals,—the angry and engulphing waves,—
Here stand we, on a savage shore,—all free,
Thy freemen, Lord! and not of man the slaves.
Here will we toil and serve thee, till our graves
On these bleak hills shall open.—When the blood
Thou pourest now so warm along our veins
Shall westward flow, till Mississippi's flood
Gives to our children's children his broad plains,
Ne'er let them wear, O God, or forge a bondman's chains!
1840.
41
THE LIBERTY BELL.
The Liberty Bell—the Liberty Bell—
The Tocsin of Freedom and Slavery's knell,
That a whole long year has idle hung,
Again is wagging its clamorous tongue!
As it merrily swings,
Its notes it flings
On the dreamy ears of planters and kings;
And it gives them a token
Of manacles broken;
And all that the prophets of Freedom have spoken,
With tongues of flame,
Like those which came
On the men who first spoke in the Saviour's name,
Comes over their soul,
As death-bells knoll,
Or the wheels of coming thunder roll!
Our Liberty Bell—
They know it well,
The Tocsin of Freedom and Slavery's knell!
The Tocsin of Freedom and Slavery's knell,
That a whole long year has idle hung,
Again is wagging its clamorous tongue!
As it merrily swings,
Its notes it flings
42
And it gives them a token
Of manacles broken;
And all that the prophets of Freedom have spoken,
With tongues of flame,
Like those which came
On the men who first spoke in the Saviour's name,
Comes over their soul,
As death-bells knoll,
Or the wheels of coming thunder roll!
Our Liberty Bell—
They know it well,
The Tocsin of Freedom and Slavery's knell!
Our Liberty Bell! let its startling tone
Abroad o'er a slavish land be thrown!
Nay, on the wings of the north-east wind,
Let it reach the isles of the Western Ind—
Those isles of the sun,
Where the work is done,
That, here at the North, is but just begun.
Let the Bell be swung,
Till old and young,
That dwell New-England's hills among,
Shall wake at the peal,
And, with holy zeal,
Beside their mountain altars kneel,
And pray that the yoke
From the necks may be broke
Of the millions who feel the ‘continual stroke’
Of the despot's rod;
And that earth's green sod
No more by the foot of a slave may be trod.
Abroad o'er a slavish land be thrown!
Nay, on the wings of the north-east wind,
Let it reach the isles of the Western Ind—
Those isles of the sun,
Where the work is done,
That, here at the North, is but just begun.
Let the Bell be swung,
Till old and young,
43
Shall wake at the peal,
And, with holy zeal,
Beside their mountain altars kneel,
And pray that the yoke
From the necks may be broke
Of the millions who feel the ‘continual stroke’
Of the despot's rod;
And that earth's green sod
No more by the foot of a slave may be trod.
Let the Liberty Bell ring out—ring out!
And let freemen reply, with a thundering shout,
That the gory scourges and clanking chains,
That blast the beauty of Southern plains,
Shall be stamped in the dust;
And that thrice-gorged Lust,
That gloats on his helpless bond-maid's bust,
Ere long shall see
That slave set free,
And joining in Liberty's Jubilee.
That Jubilee song!
‘O Lord, how long’
Must the world yet wait for that Jubilee song?
Yet, come it must;
Jehovah is just,
And his Truth and his Spirit we cheerfully trust.
That Truth to tell,
Comes the Liberty Bell,
And that Spirit shall make it strike Slavery's knell.
And let freemen reply, with a thundering shout,
That the gory scourges and clanking chains,
That blast the beauty of Southern plains,
Shall be stamped in the dust;
And that thrice-gorged Lust,
That gloats on his helpless bond-maid's bust,
Ere long shall see
That slave set free,
And joining in Liberty's Jubilee.
That Jubilee song!
‘O Lord, how long’
44
Yet, come it must;
Jehovah is just,
And his Truth and his Spirit we cheerfully trust.
That Truth to tell,
Comes the Liberty Bell,
And that Spirit shall make it strike Slavery's knell.
Our Liberty Bell! let its solemn chime
Fall on the ear of hoary Time,
As onward—onward to its goal,
He sees the chariot of Liberty roll;
While with shout and song,
The swelling throng
Of the friends of the bondman urge it along.
Let the same chime fall
On the ears of all,
Who tread on the neck of the negro thrall,
Till they start from the ground,
As they will at the sound,
When the trumpets of angels are pealing around,
And the murdered slave
Comes forth from his grave,
And smiles at the flash of th' Avenger's glaive;
And the world shall accord
In the righteous award
To both tyrant and slave, in that day of the Lord!
Fall on the ear of hoary Time,
As onward—onward to its goal,
He sees the chariot of Liberty roll;
While with shout and song,
The swelling throng
Of the friends of the bondman urge it along.
Let the same chime fall
On the ears of all,
Who tread on the neck of the negro thrall,
Till they start from the ground,
As they will at the sound,
When the trumpets of angels are pealing around,
And the murdered slave
Comes forth from his grave,
45
And the world shall accord
In the righteous award
To both tyrant and slave, in that day of the Lord!
1842.
46
TO ABOLITIONISTS.
Servants of God most high,
Who on his word rely,
By ancient seers and holy prophets spoken—
That all the chains that gall
The Ethiopian thrall,
And every yoke, shall from his neck be broken—
Who on his word rely,
By ancient seers and holy prophets spoken—
That all the chains that gall
The Ethiopian thrall,
And every yoke, shall from his neck be broken—
Whether, with holy zeal,
Ye in your closets kneel,
Or plead the cause of Freedom in a throng,
Or through a dauntless press,
The voice of righteousness
Ye pour out, like a torrent, deep and strong—
Ye in your closets kneel,
Or plead the cause of Freedom in a throng,
Or through a dauntless press,
The voice of righteousness
Ye pour out, like a torrent, deep and strong—
47
Give not your labors o'er,
Because ye're few and poor,
Because a lion couches in your path,
Because a lawless horde
Upon your heads have poured,—
Your heads unhelmeted,—their vialed wrath.
Because ye're few and poor,
Because a lion couches in your path,
Because a lawless horde
Upon your heads have poured,—
Your heads unhelmeted,—their vialed wrath.
The ancient seers, like you,
To God and duty true,
Were, in their day, reviled and put to shame:
Scorned, hated, hunted, they
From earth have passed away:
Their forms have passed away, but not their fame.
To God and duty true,
Were, in their day, reviled and put to shame:
Scorned, hated, hunted, they
From earth have passed away:
Their forms have passed away, but not their fame.
Death dares not touch their Word!
The soul of man is stirred
By it, wherever on the darkling earth,
God's Truth and human Right
Come down to dwell in light,
And holy Freedom struggles into birth.
The soul of man is stirred
By it, wherever on the darkling earth,
God's Truth and human Right
Come down to dwell in light,
And holy Freedom struggles into birth.
So shall your words be breathed,
Where'er man's brow is wreathed
With the sharp chaplet that for Him was twined,
Who lived mid taunts and sneers,
Who died mid scoffs and jeers,
From sin and slavery to redeem mankind.
Where'er man's brow is wreathed
With the sharp chaplet that for Him was twined,
48
Who died mid scoffs and jeers,
From sin and slavery to redeem mankind.
Servants of God most holy,
Who stoop to man most lowly,
To lift him up and give him liberty,
What though to-day's unpleasant!
Ye live not in the present;
Your life is in the infinite TO BE.
Who stoop to man most lowly,
To lift him up and give him liberty,
What though to-day's unpleasant!
Ye live not in the present;
Your life is in the infinite TO BE.
Your words of love sincere,
Now spoken in the ear,
Where Mammon's priests bend at his altar brazen,
And lift the suppliant eye,
In foul idolatry—
All tongues shall trumpet, and on house-tops blazon.
Now spoken in the ear,
Where Mammon's priests bend at his altar brazen,
And lift the suppliant eye,
In foul idolatry—
All tongues shall trumpet, and on house-tops blazon.
Yea, and your ‘name and praise,’
That, in these slavish days,
So many vainly dream are soon to perish,
As in the coming age
They shine on History's page,
The proud shall envy, and the good shall cherish.
That, in these slavish days,
So many vainly dream are soon to perish,
As in the coming age
They shine on History's page,
The proud shall envy, and the good shall cherish.
1842.
49
DEATH OF CHARLES FOLLEN.
[_]
Written for the Funeral Service in Commemoration of the Life and Character of Charles Follen, before the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, April 17th, 1840. Address by Samuel J. May.
O, not for thee weep;—we weep
For her, whose lone and long caress,
And widow's tears, from fountains deep,
Fall on the early fatherless.
For her, whose lone and long caress,
And widow's tears, from fountains deep,
Fall on the early fatherless.
'T is for ourselves we mourn;—we mourn
Our blighted hopes, our wishes crossed,
Thy strength, that hath our burdens borne,
Thy love, thy smile, thy counsels lost.
Our blighted hopes, our wishes crossed,
Thy strength, that hath our burdens borne,
Thy love, thy smile, thy counsels lost.
50
'T is for the slave we sigh:—we sigh
To think thou sleepest on a shore
Where thy calm voice and beaming eye
Shall plead the bondman's cause no more.
To think thou sleepest on a shore
Where thy calm voice and beaming eye
Shall plead the bondman's cause no more.
'T is for our land we grieve:—we grieve
That Freedom's fane, Devotion's shrine,
And Faith's fresh altar, thou should'st leave,
And they all lose a soul like thine.
That Freedom's fane, Devotion's shrine,
And Faith's fresh altar, thou should'st leave,
And they all lose a soul like thine.
A soul like thine—so true a soul,
Wife, friends, our land, the world must miss:
The waters o'er thy corse may roll,
But thy pure spirit is in bliss.
Wife, friends, our land, the world must miss:
The waters o'er thy corse may roll,
But thy pure spirit is in bliss.
51
HYMN FOR THE FIRST OF AUGUST.
Where Britannia's emerald isles
Gem the Caribbean sea,
And an endless summer smiles,
Lo! the negro thrall is free!
Yet not on Columbia's plains,
Hath the sun of freedom risen:
Here, in darkness and in chains,
Toiling millions pine in prison.
Gem the Caribbean sea,
And an endless summer smiles,
Lo! the negro thrall is free!
Yet not on Columbia's plains,
Hath the sun of freedom risen:
Here, in darkness and in chains,
Toiling millions pine in prison.
Shout! ye islands disenthralled,
Point the finger, as in scorn,
At a country that is called
Freedom's home, where men are born
Heirs, for life, to chains and whips,—
Bondmen, who have never known
Wife, child, parent, that their lips
Ever dared to call their own.
Point the finger, as in scorn,
At a country that is called
Freedom's home, where men are born
52
Bondmen, who have never known
Wife, child, parent, that their lips
Ever dared to call their own.
Yet, a Christian land is this!
Yea, and ministers of Christ
Slavery's foot, in homage, kiss;
And their brother, who is priced
Higher than their Saviour, even,
Do they into bondage sell;—
Pleading thus the cause of Heaven,
Serving thus the cause of hell.
Yea, and ministers of Christ
Slavery's foot, in homage, kiss;
And their brother, who is priced
Higher than their Saviour, even,
Do they into bondage sell;—
Pleading thus the cause of Heaven,
Serving thus the cause of hell.
Holy Father, let thy word,
Spoken by thy prophets old,
By the pliant priest be heard;
And let lips, that now are cold,
(Chilled by Mammon's golden wand!)
With our nation's ‘burden’ glow,
Till the free man and the bond
Shout for Slavery's overthrow!
Spoken by thy prophets old,
By the pliant priest be heard;
And let lips, that now are cold,
(Chilled by Mammon's golden wand!)
With our nation's ‘burden’ glow,
Till the free man and the bond
Shout for Slavery's overthrow!
1842.
53
PRAYER OF THE ABOLITIONIST.
We ask not that the slave should lie,
As lies his master, at his ease,
Beneath a silken canopy,
Or in the shade of blooming trees.
As lies his master, at his ease,
Beneath a silken canopy,
Or in the shade of blooming trees.
We mourn not that the man should toil;
'T is nature's need—'t is God's decree;
But, let the hand that tills the soil,
Be, like the wind that fans it, free.
'T is nature's need—'t is God's decree;
But, let the hand that tills the soil,
Be, like the wind that fans it, free.
We ask not ‘eye for eye’—that all,
Who forge the chain and ply the whip,
Should feel their torture—that the thrall
Should wield the scourge of mastership—
Who forge the chain and ply the whip,
Should feel their torture—that the thrall
Should wield the scourge of mastership—
54
We only ask, O God, that they,
Who bind a brother, may relent:
But, Great Avenger, we do pray
That the wrong-doer may repent.
Who bind a brother, may relent:
But, Great Avenger, we do pray
That the wrong-doer may repent.
1842.
55
UNCHAIN THE LABORER.
Strike from that laborer's limbs his chain!
In the fierce sun the iron burns!
By night, it fills his dreams with pain;
By day, it galls him as he turns.
In the fierce sun the iron burns!
By night, it fills his dreams with pain;
By day, it galls him as he turns.
Yes; and your dreams it visits, too,
When Fear stands o'er your restless bed,
And shakes it in your ears, till you
Tremble, as at an earthquake's tread.
When Fear stands o'er your restless bed,
And shakes it in your ears, till you
Tremble, as at an earthquake's tread.
Then break his chain, and let him go,
And, with the spirit of a man,
Earn his own bread; and you shall know
Peace,—that you know not now, nor can
And, with the spirit of a man,
Earn his own bread; and you shall know
Peace,—that you know not now, nor can
56
The chain, that binds to you your slave,
Binds you to him, with links so strong,
That you must wear them to your grave,
If all your days you do him wrong.
Binds you to him, with links so strong,
That you must wear them to your grave,
If all your days you do him wrong.
Then, from his body and your soul,
Throw off the load, while yet you may;
Thus strive, in faith, for heaven's high goal,
And wait, in hope, the judgement day.
Throw off the load, while yet you may;
Thus strive, in faith, for heaven's high goal,
And wait, in hope, the judgement day.
1842.
57
PRAYER FOR THE SLAVE.
Almighty God! thou Giver
Of all our sunny plains,
That stretch from sea to river,
Hear'st thou thy children's chains?
Seest thou the snappered lashes,
That daily sting, afresh?
Seest thou the cow-skin's gashes,
Cut through the quivering flesh?
Of all our sunny plains,
That stretch from sea to river,
Hear'st thou thy children's chains?
Seest thou the snappered lashes,
That daily sting, afresh?
Seest thou the cow-skin's gashes,
Cut through the quivering flesh?
Seest thou the sores, that rankle,
Licked by no pitying dog,
Where, round the bondman's ancle,
They've rivetted a clog?
Hear'st thou the curse he mutters?
Seest thou his flashing eye?
Hear'st thou the prayer he utters,
That thou would'st let him die?
Licked by no pitying dog,
Where, round the bondman's ancle,
They've rivetted a clog?
58
Seest thou his flashing eye?
Hear'st thou the prayer he utters,
That thou would'st let him die?
God of the poor and friendless,
Shall this unequalled wrong,
This agony, be endless?
How long, O Lord, how long
Shall man set, on his brother,
The iron heel of sin,
The Holy Ghost to smother—
To crush the God within!
Shall this unequalled wrong,
This agony, be endless?
How long, O Lord, how long
Shall man set, on his brother,
The iron heel of sin,
The Holy Ghost to smother—
To crush the God within!
Call out, O God, thy legions—
The hosts of love and light!
Ev'n in the blasted regions
That Slavery wraps in night,
Some of thine own anointed
Shall catch the welcome call,
And, at the hour appointed,
Do battle for the thrall.
The hosts of love and light!
Ev'n in the blasted regions
That Slavery wraps in night,
Some of thine own anointed
Shall catch the welcome call,
And, at the hour appointed,
Do battle for the thrall.
59
Let press, let pulpit thunder,
In all slaveholders' ears,
Till they disgorge the plunder,
They've garnered up, for years;
Till Mississippi's Valley,
Till Carolina's coast,
Round Freedom's standard rally,
A vast, a ransomed host!
In all slaveholders' ears,
Till they disgorge the plunder,
They've garnered up, for years;
Till Mississippi's Valley,
Till Carolina's coast,
Round Freedom's standard rally,
A vast, a ransomed host!
1842.
60
ODE,
Sung by the Constituents of John Quincy Adams, on his return from Congress, September 17, 1842.
Not from the bloody field,
Borne on his battered shield,
By foes o'ercome,
But, from a sterner fight,
In the defence of Right,
Clothed in a conquerer's might,
We hail him home.
Borne on his battered shield,
By foes o'ercome,
But, from a sterner fight,
In the defence of Right,
Clothed in a conquerer's might,
We hail him home.
Where Slavery's minions cower
Before the servile power,
He bore their ban;
And, like an aged oak,
That braved the lightning's stroke,
When thunders round it broke,
Stood up, A MAN.
Before the servile power,
He bore their ban;
And, like an aged oak,
That braved the lightning's stroke,
When thunders round it broke,
Stood up, A MAN.
61
Nay—when they stormed aloud,
And round him, like a cloud,
Came, thick and black,
He, single-handed, strove,
And, like Olympian Jove,
With his own thunder, drove
The phalanx back.
And round him, like a cloud,
Came, thick and black,
He, single-handed, strove,
And, like Olympian Jove,
With his own thunder, drove
The phalanx back.
No leafy wreath we twine,
Of oak or Isthmian pine,
To grace his brow;
Like his own locks of gray,
Such leaves would fall away,
As will the grateful lay,
We weave him now.
Of oak or Isthmian pine,
To grace his brow;
Like his own locks of gray,
Such leaves would fall away,
As will the grateful lay,
We weave him now.
But Time shall touch the page,
That tells how Quincy's sage
Has dared to live,
Save as he touches wine,
Or Shakspeare's glowing line,
Or Raphael's forms divine,
New life to give.
That tells how Quincy's sage
Has dared to live,
Save as he touches wine,
Or Shakspeare's glowing line,
Or Raphael's forms divine,
New life to give.
62
‘I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAYS.’
I would not live always; I ask not to stay,
Where I must bear the burden and heat of the day:
Where my body is cut with the lash or the cord,
And a hovel and hunger are all my reward.
Where I must bear the burden and heat of the day:
Where my body is cut with the lash or the cord,
And a hovel and hunger are all my reward.
I would not live always, where life is a load
To the flesh and the spirit:—since there's an abode
For the soul disenthralled, let me breathe my last breath,
And repose in thine arms, my deliverer, Death!—
To the flesh and the spirit:—since there's an abode
For the soul disenthralled, let me breathe my last breath,
And repose in thine arms, my deliverer, Death!—
I would not live always to toil as a slave:
O no, let me rest, though I rest in my grave;
For there, from their troubling, the wicked shall cease,
And, free from his master, the slave be at peace.
O no, let me rest, though I rest in my grave;
For there, from their troubling, the wicked shall cease,
And, free from his master, the slave be at peace.
1843.
63
OFT, IN THE CHILLY NIGHT.
Oft, in the chilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
When all her silvery light
The moon is pouring round me,
Beneath her ray,
I kneel and pray,
That God would give some token,
That Slavery's chains,
On southern plains,
Shall all, ere long, be broken.
Yes, in the chilly night,
Though Slavery's chain has bound me,
Kneel I, and feel the might
Of God's right arm around me.
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
When all her silvery light
The moon is pouring round me,
Beneath her ray,
I kneel and pray,
That God would give some token,
That Slavery's chains,
On southern plains,
Shall all, ere long, be broken.
Yes, in the chilly night,
Though Slavery's chain has bound me,
Kneel I, and feel the might
Of God's right arm around me.
64
When, at the driver's call,
In cold or sultry weather,
We slaves, both great and small,
Turn out to toil together,
I feel like one,
From whom the sun
Of hope has long departed,
And morning's light,
And weary night
Still find me broken-hearted.
Thus when the chilly breath
Of night is sighing round me,
Kneel I, and wish that Death,
In his cold chain, had bound me.
In cold or sultry weather,
We slaves, both great and small,
Turn out to toil together,
I feel like one,
From whom the sun
Of hope has long departed,
And morning's light,
And weary night
Still find me broken-hearted.
Thus when the chilly breath
Of night is sighing round me,
Kneel I, and wish that Death,
In his cold chain, had bound me.
1843.
| The anti-slavery poems of John Pierpont | |