SLAVERY
,
A
POEM
.
IF
Heaven
has
into
being
deign'd
to
call
Thy
light
,
O
LIBERTY
!
to
shine
on
all
;
Bright
intellectual
Sun
!
why
does
thy
ray
To
earth
distribute
only
partial
day
?
Since
no
resisting
cause
from
spirit
flows
Thy
penetrating
essence
to
oppose
;
No
obstacles
by
Nature's
hand
imprest
,
Thy
subtle
and
ethereal
beams
arrest
;
Nor
motion's
laws
can
speed
thy
active
course
,
Nor
strong
repulsion's
pow'rs
obstruct
thy
force
;
Since
there
is
no
convexity
in
MIND
,
Why
are
thy
genial
beams
to
parts
confin'd
?
While
the
chill
North
with
thy
bright
ray
is
blest
,
Why
should
fell
darkness
half
the
South
invest
?
Was
it
decreed
,
fair
Freedom
!
at
thy
birth
,
That
thou
shou'd'st
ne'er
irradiate
all
the
earth
?
While
Britain
basks
in
thy
full
blaze
of
light
,
Why
lies
sad
Afric
quench'd
in
total
night
?
Thee
only
,
sober
Goddess
!
I
attest
,
In
smiles
chastis'd
,
and
decent
graces
drest
.
Not
that
unlicens'd
monster
of
the
crowd
,
Whose
roar
terrific
bursts
in
peals
so
loud
,
Deaf'ning
the
ear
of
Peace
:
fierce
Faction's
tool
;
Of
rash
Sedition
born
,
and
mad
Misrule
;
Whose
stubborn
mouth
,
rejecting
Reason's
rein
,
No
strength
can
govern
,
and
no
skill
restrain
;
Whose
magic
cries
the
frantic
vulgar
draw
To
spurn
at
Order
,
and
to
outrage
Law
;
To
tread
on
grave
Authority
and
Pow'r
,
And
shake
the
work
of
ages
in
an
hour
:
Convuls'd
her
voice
,
and
pestilent
her
breath
,
She
raves
of
mercy
,
while
she
deals
out
death
:
Each
blast
is
fate
;
she
darts
from
either
hand
Red
conflagration
o'er
th'
astonish'd
land
;
Clamouring
for
peace
,
she
rends
the
air
with
noise
,
And
to
reform
a
part
,
the
whole
destroys
.
O
,
plaintive
Southerne
!
Author
of
the
Tragedy
of
Oronoko
.
whose
impassion'd
strain
So
oft
has
wak'd
my
languid
Muse
in
vain
!
Now
,
when
congenial
themes
her
cares
engage
,
She
burns
to
emulate
thy
glowing
page
;
Her
failing
efforts
mock
her
fond
desires
,
She
shares
thy
feelings
,
not
partakes
thy
fires
.
Strange
pow'r
of
song
!
the
strain
that
warms
the
heart
Seems
the
same
inspiration
to
impart
;
Touch'd
by
the
kindling
energy
alone
,
We
think
the
flame
which
melts
us
is
our
own
;
Deceiv'd
,
for
genius
we
mistake
delight
,
Charm'd
as
we
read
,
we
fancy
we
can
write
.
Tho'
not
to
me
,
sweet
Bard
,
thy
pow'rs
belong
,
Fair
Truth
,
a
hallow'd
guide
!
inspires
my
song
.
Here
Art
wou'd
weave
her
gayest
flow'rs
in
vain
,
For
Truth
the
bright
invention
wou'd
disdain
.
For
no
fictitious
ills
these
numbers
flow
,
But
living
anguish
,
and
substantial
woe
;
No
individual
griefs
my
bosom
melt
,
For
millions
feel
what
Oronoko
felt
:
Fir'd
by
no
single
wrongs
,
the
countless
host
I
mourn
,
by
rapine
dragg'd
from
Afric's
coast
.
Perish
th'
illiberal
thought
which
wou'd
debase
The
native
genius
of
the
sable
race
!
Perish
the
proud
philosophy
,
which
sought
To
rob
them
of
the
pow'rs
of
equal
thought
!
Does
then
th'
immortal
principle
within
Change
with
the
casual
colour
of
a
skin
?
Does
matter
govern
spirit
?
or
is
mind
Degraded
by
the
form
to
which
'tis
join'd
?
No
:
they
have
heads
to
think
,
and
hearts
to
feel
,
And
souls
to
act
,
with
firm
,
tho'
erring
zeal
;
For
they
have
keen
affections
,
kind
desires
,
Love
strong
as
death
,
and
active
patriot
fires
;
All
the
rude
energy
,
the
fervid
flame
,
Of
high-soul'd
passion
,
and
ingenuous
shame
:
Strong
,
but
luxuriant
virtues
boldly
shoot
From
the
wild
vigour
of
a
savage
root
.
Nor
weak
their
sense
of
honour's
proud
control
,
For
pride
is
virtue
in
a
Pagan
soul
;
A
sense
of
worth
,
a
conscience
of
desert
,
A
high
,
unbroken
haughtiness
of
heart
;
That
self-same
stuff
which
erst
proud
empires
sway'd
,
Of
which
the
conquerors
of
the
world
were
made
.
Capricious
fate
of
man
!
that
very
pride
In
Afric
scourg'd
,
in
Rome
was
deify'd
.
No
Muse
,
O
It
is
a
point
of
honour
among
negroes
of
a
high
spirit
to
die
rather
than
to
suffer
their
glossy
skin
to
bear
the
mark
of
the
whip
.
Qua-shi
had
somehow
offended
his
master
,
a
young
planter
with
whom
he
had
been
bred
up
in
the
endearing
intimacy
of
a
play-fellow
.
His
services
had
been
faithful
;
his
at
tachment
affectionate
.
The
master
resolved
to
punish
him
,
and
pursued
him
for
that
purpose
.
In
trying
to
escape
Qua-shi
stumbled
and
fell
;
the
master
fell
upon
him
:
they
wrestled
long
with
doubtful
victory
;
at
length
Qua-shi
got
uppermost
,
and
,
being
firmly
seated
on
his
master's
breast
,
he
secured
his
legs
with
one
hand
,
and
with
the
other
drew
a
sharp
knife
;
then
said
,
Master
,
I
have
been
bred
up
with
you
from
a
child
;
I
have
loved
you
as
myself
:
in
return
,
you
have
condemned
me
to
a
punishment
of
which
I
must
ever
have
borne
the
marks
:
thus
only
I
can
avoid
them
;
so
saying
,
he
drew
the
knife
with
all
his
strength
across
his
own
throat
,
and
sell
down
dead
,
without
a
groan
,
on
his
master's
body
.
Ramsay's
Essay
on
the
Treatment
of
African
Slaves
.
Qua-shi
!
shall
thy
deeds
relate
,
No
statue
snatch
thee
from
oblivious
fate
!
For
thou
wast
born
where
never
gentle
Muse
On
Valour's
grave
the
flow'rs
of
Genius
strews
;
And
thou
wast
born
where
no
recording
page
Plucks
the
fair
deed
from
Time's
devouring
rage
.
Had
Fortune
plac'd
thee
on
some
happier
coast
,
Where
polish'd
souls
heroic
virtue
boast
,
To
thee
,
who
sought'st
a
voluntary
grave
,
Th'
uninjur'd
honours
of
thy
name
to
save
,
Whose
generous
arm
thy
barbarous
Master
spar'd
,
Altars
had
smok'd
,
and
temples
had
been
rear'd
.
Whene'er
to
Asric's
shores
I
turn
my
eyes
,
Horrors
of
deepest
,
deadliest
guilt
arise
;
I
see
,
by
more
than
Fancy's
mirror
shewn
,
The
burning
village
,
and
the
blazing
town
:
See
the
dire
victim
torn
from
social
life
,
The
shrieking
babe
,
the
agonizing
wife
!
She
,
wretch
forlorn
!
is
dragg'd
by
hostile
hands
,
To
distant
tyrants
sold
,
in
distant
lands
!
Transmitted
miseries
,
and
successive
chains
,
The
sole
sad
heritage
her
child
obtains
!
Ev'n
this
last
wretched
boon
their
foes
deny
,
To
weep
together
,
or
together
die
.
By
felon
hands
,
by
one
relentless
stroke
,
See
the
fond
links
of
feeling
Nature
broke
!
The
fibres
twisting
round
a
parent's
heart
,
Torn
from
their
grasp
,
and
bleeding
as
they
part
.
Hold
,
murderers
,
hold
!
nor
aggravate
distress
;
Respect
the
passions
you
yourselves
possess
;
Ev'n
you
,
of
ruffian
heart
,
and
ruthless
hand
,
Love
your
own
offspring
,
love
your
native
land
.
Ah
!
leave
them
holy
Freedom's
cheering
smile
,
The
heav'n-taught
fondness
for
the
parent
soil
;
Revere
affections
mingled
with
our
frame
,
In
every
nature
,
every
clime
the
same
;
In
all
,
these
feelings
equal
sway
maintain
;
In
all
the
love
of
HOME
and
FREEDOM
reign
:
And
Tempe's
vale
,
and
parch'd
Angola's
sand
,
One
equal
fondness
of
their
sons
command
.
Th'
unconquer'd
Savage
laughs
at
pain
and
toil
,
Basking
in
Freedom's
beams
which
gild
his
native
soil
.
Does
thirst
of
empire
,
does
desire
of
fame
,
(
For
these
are
specious
crimes
)
our
rage
inflame
?
No
:
sordid
lust
of
gold
their
fate
controls
,
The
basest
appetite
of
basest
souls
;
Gold
,
better
gain'd
,
by
what
their
ripening
sky
,
Their
fertile
fields
,
their
arts
Besides
many
valuable
productions
of
the
soil
,
cloths
and
carpets
of
ex
quisite
manufacture
are
brought
from
the
coast
of
Guinea
.
and
mines
supply
.
What
wrongs
,
what
injuries
does
Oppression
plead
To
smooth
the
horror
of
th'
unnatural
deed
?
What
strange
offence
,
what
aggravated
sin
?
They
stand
convicted
—
of
a
darker
skin
!
Barbarians
,
hold
!
th'
opprobrious
commerce
spare
,
Respect
his
sacred
image
which
they
bear
:
Tho'
dark
and
savage
,
ignorant
and
blind
,
They
claim
the
common
privilege
of
kind
;
Let
Malice
strip
them
of
each
other
plea
,
They
still
are
men
,
and
men
shou'd
still
be
free
.
Insulted
Reason
loaths
th'
inverted
trade
—
Dire
change
!
the
agent
is
the
purchase
made
!
Perplex'd
,
the
baffled
Muse
involves
the
tale
;
Nature
confounded
,
well
may
language
fail
!
The
outrag'd
Goddess
with
abhorrent
eyes
Sees
MAN
the
traffic
,
SOULS
the
merchandize
!
Plead
not
,
in
reason's
palpable
abuse
,
Their
sense
of
Nothing
is
more
frequent
than
this
cruel
and
stupid
argument
,
that
they
do
not
feel
the
miseries
inflicted
on
them
as
Europeans
would
do
.
feeling
callous
and
obtuse
:
From
heads
to
hearts
lies
Nature's
plain
appeal
,
Tho'
few
can
reason
,
all
mankind
can
feel
.
Tho'
wit
may
boast
a
livelier
dread
of
shame
,
A
loftier
sense
of
wrong
refinement
claim
;
Tho'
polish'd
manners
may
fresh
wants
invent
,
And
nice
distinctions
nicer
souls
torment
;
Tho'
these
on
finer
spirits
heavier
fall
,
Yet
natural
evils
are
the
same
to
all
.
Tho'
wounds
there
are
which
reason's
force
may
heal
,
There
needs
no
logic
sure
to
make
us
feel
.
The
nerve
,
howe'er
untutor'd
,
can
sustain
A
sharp
,
unutterable
sense
of
pain
;
As
exquisitely
fashion'd
in
a
slave
,
As
where
unequal
fate
a
sceptre
gave
.
Sense
is
as
keen
where
Congo's
sons
preside
,
As
where
proud
Tiber
rolls
his
classic
tide
.
Rhetoric
or
verse
may
point
the
feeling
line
,
They
do
not
whet
sensation
,
but
define
.
Did
ever
slave
less
feel
the
galling
chain
,
When
Zeno
prov'd
there
was
no
ill
in
pain
?
Their
miseries
philosophic
quirks
deride
,
Slaves
groan
in
pangs
disown'd
by
Stoic
pride
.
When
the
fierce
Sun
darts
vertical
his
beams
,
And
thirst
and
hunger
mix
their
wild
extremes
;
When
the
sharp
iron
This
is
not
said
figuratively
.
The
writer
of
these
lines
has
seen
a
com
plete
set
of
chains
,
fitted
to
every
separate
limb
of
these
unhappy
,
innocent
men
;
together
with
instruments
for
wrenching
open
the
jaws
,
contrived
with
such
ingenious
cruelty
as
would
shock
the
humanity
of
an
inquisitor
.
wounds
his
inmost
soul
,
And
his
strain'd
eyes
in
burning
anguish
roll
;
Will
the
parch'd
negro
find
,
ere
he
expire
,
No
pain
in
hunger
,
and
no
heat
in
fire
?
For
him
,
when
fate
his
tortur'd
frame
destroys
,
What
hope
of
present
fame
,
or
future
joys
?
For
this
,
have
heroes
shorten'd
nature's
date
;
For
that
,
have
martyrs
gladly
met
their
fate
;
But
him
,
forlorn
,
no
hero's
pride
sustains
,
No
martyr's
blissful
visions
sooth
his
pains
;
Sullen
,
he
mingles
with
his
kindred
dust
,
For
he
has
learn'd
to
dread
the
Christian's
trust
;
To
him
what
mercy
can
that
Pow'r
display
,
Whose
servants
murder
,
and
whose
sons
betray
?
Savage
!
thy
venial
error
I
deplore
,
They
are
not
Christians
who
infest
thy
shore
.
O
thou
sad
spirit
,
whose
preposterous
yoke
The
great
deliverer
Death
,
at
length
,
has
broke
!
Releas'd
from
misery
,
and
escap'd
from
care
,
Go
,
meet
that
mercy
man
deny'd
thee
here
.
In
thy
dark
home
,
sure
refuge
of
th'
oppress'd
,
The
wicked
vex
not
,
and
the
weary
rest
.
And
,
if
some
notions
,
vague
and
undefin'd
,
Of
future
terrors
have
assail'd
thy
mind
;
If
such
thy
masters
have
presum'd
to
teach
,
As
terrors
only
they
are
prone
to
preach
;
(
For
shou'd
they
paint
eternal
Mercy's
reign
,
Where
were
th'
oppressor's
rod
,
the
captive's
chain
?
)
If
,
then
,
thy
troubled
soul
has
learn'd
to
dread
The
dark
unknown
thy
trembling
footsteps
tread
;
On
HIM
,
who
made
thee
what
thou
art
,
depend
;
HE
,
who
withholds
the
means
,
accepts
the
end
.
Not
thine
the
reckoning
dire
of
LIGHT
abus'd
,
KNOWLEDGE
disgrac'd
,
and
LIBERTY
misus'd
;
On
thee
no
awful
judge
incens'd
shall
sit
For
parts
perverted
,
and
dishonour'd
wit
.
Where
ignorance
will
be
found
the
surest
plea
,
How
many
learn'd
and
wise
shall
envy
thee
!
And
thou
,
WHITE
SAVAGE
!
whether
lust
of
gold
,
Or
lust
of
conquest
,
rule
thee
uncontrol'd
!
Hero
,
or
robber
!
—
by
whatever
name
Thou
plead
thy
impious
claim
to
wealth
or
fame
;
Whether
inferior
mischiefs
be
thy
boast
,
A
petty
tyrant
rifling
Gambia's
coast
:
Or
bolder
carnage
track
thy
crimson
way
,
Kings
dispossess'd
,
and
Provinces
thy
prey
;
Panting
to
tame
wide
earth's
remotest
bound
;
All
Cortez
murder'd
,
all
Columbus
found
;
O'er
plunder'd
realms
to
reign
,
detested
Lord
,
Make
millions
wretched
,
and
thyself
abhorr'd
;
—
In
Reason's
eye
,
in
Wisdom's
fair
account
,
Your
sum
of
glory
boasts
a
like
amount
;
The
means
may
differ
,
but
the
end's
the
same
;
Conquest
is
pillage
with
a
nobler
name
.
Who
makes
the
sum
of
human
blessings
less
,
Or
sinks
the
stock
of
general
happiness
,
No
solid
same
shall
grace
,
no
true
renown
,
His
life
shall
blazon
,
or
his
memory
crown
.
Had
those
advent'rous
spirits
who
explore
Thro'
ocean's
trackless
wastes
,
the
far-sought
shore
;
Whether
of
wealth
insatiate
,
or
of
pow'r
,
Conquerors
who
waste
,
or
ruffians
who
devour
:
Had
these
possess'd
,
O
COOK
!
thy
gentle
mind
,
Thy
love
of
arts
,
thy
love
of
humankind
;
Had
these
pursued
thy
mild
and
liberal
plan
,
DISCOVERERS
had
not
been
a
curse
to
man
!
Then
,
bless'd
Philanthropy
!
thy
social
hands
Had
link'd
dissever'd
worlds
in
brothers
bands
;
Careless
,
if
colour
,
or
if
clime
divide
;
Then
,
lov'd
,
and
loving
,
man
had
liv'd
,
and
died
.
The
purest
wreaths
which
hang
on
glory's
shrine
,
For
empires
founded
,
peaceful
PENN
!
are
thine
;
No
blood-stain'd
laurels
crown'd
thy
virtuous
toil
,
No
slaughter'd
natives
drench'd
thy
fair-earn'd
soil
.
Still
thy
meek
spirit
in
thy
The
Quakers
have
emancipated
all
their
slaves
throughout
America
.
flock
survives
,
Consistent
still
,
their
doctrines
rule
their
lives
;
Thy
followers
only
have
effac'd
the
shame
Inscrib'd
by
SLAVERY
on
the
Christian
name
.
Shall
Britain
,
where
the
soul
of
Freedom
reigns
,
Forge
chains
for
others
she
herself
disdains
?
Forbid
it
,
Heaven
!
O
let
the
nations
know
The
liberty
she
loves
she
will
bestow
;
Not
to
herself
the
glorious
gift
confin'd
,
She
spreads
the
blessing
wide
as
humankind
;
And
,
scorning
narrow
views
of
time
and
place
,
Bids
all
be
free
in
earth's
extended
space
.
What
page
of
human
annals
can
record
A
deed
so
bright
as
human
rights
restor'd
?
O
may
that
god-like
deed
,
that
shining
page
,
Redeem
OUR
fame
,
and
consecrate
OUR
age
!
And
see
,
the
cherub
Mercy
from
above
,
Descending
softly
,
quits
the
sphere
of
love
!
On
feeling
hearts
she
sheds
celestial
dew
,
And
breathes
her
spirit
o'er
th'
enlighten'd
few
;
From
soul
to
soul
the
spreading
influence
steals
,
Till
every
breast
the
soft
contagion
feels
.
She
bears
,
exulting
,
to
the
burning
shore
The
loveliest
office
Angel
ever
bore
;
To
vindicate
the
pow'r
in
Heaven
ador'd
,
To
still
the
clank
of
chains
,
and
sheathe
the
sword
;
To
cheer
the
mourner
,
and
with
soothing
hands
From
bursting
hearts
unbind
th'
Oppressor's
bands
;
To
raise
the
lustre
of
the
Christian
name
,
And
clear
the
foulest
blot
that
dims
its
fame
.
As
the
mild
Spirit
hovers
o'er
the
coast
,
A
fresher
hue
the
wither'd
landscapes
boast
;
Her
healing
smiles
the
ruin'd
scenes
repair
,
And
blasted
Nature
wears
a
joyous
air
.
She
spreads
her
blest
commission
from
above
,
Stamp'd
with
the
sacred
characters
of
love
;
She
tears
the
banner
stain'd
with
blood
and
tears
,
And
,
LIBERTY
!
thy
shining
standard
rears
!
As
the
bright
ensign's
glory
she
displays
,
See
pale
OPPRESSION
faints
beneath
the
blaze
!
The
giant
dies
!
no
more
his
frown
appals
,
The
chain
untouch'd
,
drops
off
;
the
fetter
falls
.
Astonish'd
echo
tells
the
vocal
shore
,
Oppression's
fall'n
,
and
Slavery
is
no
more
!
The
dusky
myriads
crowd
the
sultry
plain
,
And
hail
that
mercy
long
invok'd
in
vain
.
Victorious
Pow'r
!
she
bursts
their
two-fold
bands
,
And
FAITH
and
FREEDOM
spring
from
Mercy's
hands
,