Poems on various subjects by Charles Lloyd |
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The Slave.
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 | Poems on various subjects |  |
62
The Slave.
—An Ode.
Poor Slave! Misfortune's harrass'd child!
Who liv'st to weep, and breath'st to sigh,
Oh thou from every friend exil'd,
And hid from Pity's melting eye!
Who liv'st to weep, and breath'st to sigh,
Oh thou from every friend exil'd,
And hid from Pity's melting eye!
Say, when at morning's joyless call,
Thy daily toil thou goest to bide,
To writhe in Slavery's hated thrall,
To wounds of Wealth, and threats of Pride!
Thy daily toil thou goest to bide,
To writhe in Slavery's hated thrall,
To wounds of Wealth, and threats of Pride!
Say, dost thou know unfriended Thing!
That thousands glittering, gay, and vain,
Disporting scud aloof on silken wing?—
And dost thou know that they like thee are men?
Art thou aware while plung'd in grief's abyss,
That Rapture gilds their hours, add life for them is bliss?
That thousands glittering, gay, and vain,
Disporting scud aloof on silken wing?—
And dost thou know that they like thee are men?
Art thou aware while plung'd in grief's abyss,
That Rapture gilds their hours, add life for them is bliss?
Oh no! thou know'st it not—for thee
Poor wretch! 'tis one to live and pine—
For who is blest that is not free?
And chains alas! are ever thine!
Poor wretch! 'tis one to live and pine—
For who is blest that is not free?
And chains alas! are ever thine!
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Methinks I see thy hollow eye,
Thy pleading look, thy gestures meek,
Methinks I mark thy struggling sigh,
The big round tear that scalds thy cheek.
Thy pleading look, thy gestures meek,
Methinks I mark thy struggling sigh,
The big round tear that scalds thy cheek.
Thy trembling hands their force forget,
The faint drops course thy feeble frame,
I mark the pang of Death!—thine eye is set—
From thy parch'd lips their latest murmurs came—
Yes! all is o'er—thy griefs have had their scope,
And o'er thy dying face I mark'd a gleam of hope.
The faint drops course thy feeble frame,
I mark the pang of Death!—thine eye is set—
From thy parch'd lips their latest murmurs came—
Yes! all is o'er—thy griefs have had their scope,
And o'er thy dying face I mark'd a gleam of hope.
Come round the corse, ye hard ambitious Great!
Come round the corse, ye puny sons of Pride!
Whoe'er ye are that loll in odious state,
Come look on him who toil'd, who wept, and died!
Come round the corse, ye puny sons of Pride!
Whoe'er ye are that loll in odious state,
Come look on him who toil'd, who wept, and died!
His cruel scars, his shatter'd joints behold,
Ye rosy—featur'd sons of silken Sloth!
Observe your waxen limbs, your robes of gold,
Then seek the marks of Brotherhood in both!
Ye rosy—featur'd sons of silken Sloth!
Observe your waxen limbs, your robes of gold,
Then seek the marks of Brotherhood in both!
If I mistake not Traitors! much ye blush—
Rash violators of eternal right!
May the dark deed confound ye, may it crush
The monstrous transports of insulting Might!
Oh may you melting view an injur'd slave!
Be Freedom cradled in a Bondman's grave!
Rash violators of eternal right!
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The monstrous transports of insulting Might!
Oh may you melting view an injur'd slave!
Be Freedom cradled in a Bondman's grave!
| Poems on various subjects | |