 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
214
WHITE SLAVERY.
They tell of horrors on another shore,Injustice, thraldom, chains and goads and whips,
And human-nature smothered to the lips
In self-wrung seas of tears and sweat and gore:
O Heaven,—avenge such woes for evermore!
But, England! somewhat is there against Thee;
Too oft thy Sun is shrouded in eclipse,
Thy Glory quench'd in Shame: too often here
Thy sons and daughters, children of the free,
Beneath Oppression's heel in pain and fear
Are but as bondmen,—but not long shall be:
Already our taskmasters and their slaves
Seem changing places; and each coming year
Shall bring more changes on its winds and waves.
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