The Reliquary By Bernard and Lucy Barton. With A Prefatory Appeal for Poetry and Poets |
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THE STARTING-POST;
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The Reliquary | ||
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THE STARTING-POST;
OR, CLARKSON AT WADESMILL.
“Coming in sight of Wadesmill, in Hertfordshire, I sat down
disconsolate on the turf by the road-side, and held my horse.
Here a thought came into my mind, that if the contents of the
Essay were true, it was time some person should see these calamities
to their end. Agitated in this manner, I reached home.
This was in the Summer of 1785.”
—Clarkson's History of the Abolition, Vol. I., p. 210.
A wanderer by the road-way side,
Where leafy tall trees grow,
Casting their branching shadows wide,
Sits on the turf below.
Where leafy tall trees grow,
Casting their branching shadows wide,
Sits on the turf below.
Though rich the landscape, hill and plain,
Before him there outspread;
One hand holds fast his bridle-rein,
One props his thoughtful head.
Before him there outspread;
One hand holds fast his bridle-rein,
One props his thoughtful head.
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The flush of youth is on his brow,
Its fire is in his eye;
And yet the first is pensive now,
The latter nought can spy.
Its fire is in his eye;
And yet the first is pensive now,
The latter nought can spy.
Does proud ambition's fitful gleam
Light up his soul within?
Or fond affection's gentler dream
Prompt him love's bliss to win?
Light up his soul within?
Or fond affection's gentler dream
Prompt him love's bliss to win?
These are forgotten, or unknown:—
For o'er the Atlantic main,
His ear has caught the captive's groan,
Has heard his clanking chain.
For o'er the Atlantic main,
His ear has caught the captive's groan,
Has heard his clanking chain.
Nor less from Afric's land afar,
Borne by the billowy waves,
The hideous din of sordid war,
The shrieks of kidnapped slaves.
Borne by the billowy waves,
The hideous din of sordid war,
The shrieks of kidnapped slaves.
The iron of that galling yoke
Has entered in his soul!
How shall power's tyrant spell be broke?—
The sick at heart made whole?
Has entered in his soul!
How shall power's tyrant spell be broke?—
The sick at heart made whole?
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Who, e'en on Albion's far-famed isle,
Where freedom gives her laws,
Nobly forgetting self the while,
Shall live but for her cause?
Where freedom gives her laws,
Nobly forgetting self the while,
Shall live but for her cause?
Who, the apostle of her creed,
Shall journey to and fro,
Her universal rights to plead,
And slavery overthrow?
Shall journey to and fro,
Her universal rights to plead,
And slavery overthrow?
“Thou art the man!” the prophet cried;
The awe-struck monarch heard;
And while his heart with anguish sighed,
Compunction's depths were stirred
The awe-struck monarch heard;
And while his heart with anguish sighed,
Compunction's depths were stirred
As clear, as vivid the appeal
To freedom's champion given;
And God himself hath set his seal,—
The message was from heaven!
To freedom's champion given;
And God himself hath set his seal,—
The message was from heaven!
The Reliquary | ||