It is not sullenness, but grief-- O, ma.s.sa, pity me!
G.o.d gave me babe--a precious boon, To cheer my lonely heart, But ma.s.sa called to work too soon, And I must needs depart.
The morn was chill--I spoke no word, But feared my babe might die, And heard all day, or thought I heard, My little baby cry.
At noon--O, how I ran! and took My baby to my breast!
I lingered--and the long lash broke My sleeping infant"s rest.
I worked till night--till darkest night, In torture and disgrace; Went home, and watched till morning light, To see my baby"s face.
The fulness from its cheek was gone, The sparkle from its eye; Now hot, like fire, now cold, like stone, I _knew_ my babe must die.
I worked upon plantation ground, Though faint with woe and dread, Then ran, or flew, and here I found-- See ma.s.sa, almost dead.
Then give me but one little hour-- O! do not lash me so!
One little hour--one little hour-- And gratefully I"ll go.
Ah me! the whip has cut my boy, I heard his feeble scream; No more--farewell my only joy, My life"s first gladsome dream!
I lay thee on the lonely sod, The heaven is bright above; These Christians boast they have a G.o.d, And say his name is Love: O gentle, loving G.o.d, look down!
My dying baby see; The mercy that from earth is flown, Perhaps may dwell with THEE!
THE NEGRO"S APPEAL.
Words by Cowper. Tune--"Isle of Beauty."
[Music]
Forced from home and all its pleasures, Afric"s coast I left forlorn; To increase a stranger"s treasures, O"er the raging billows borne.
Christian people bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold: But though slave they have enrolled me _Minds_ are never to be sold.
Is there, as ye sometimes tell me, Is there one who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell me, Speaking from his throne--the sky?
Ask him, if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use.
Hark! he answers--wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks.
He, foreseeing what vexations Afric"s sons should undergo, Fixed their tyrant"s habitations, Where his whirlwinds answer--No!
By our blood in Afric" wasted, Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in your barks the main: By our sufferings, since ye brought us To the man-degrading mart, All sustained by patience, taught us Only by a broken heart--
Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find, Worthier of regard and stronger Than the _color_ of our kind.
Slaves of gold! whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers; Prove that you have human feelings, Ere you proudly question ours.
NEGRO BOY SOLD FOR A WATCH.[1]
[Footnote 1: An African prince having arrived in England, and having been asked what he had given for his watch, answered, "What I will never give again--I gave a fine boy for it."]
Words by Cowper. Arranged by G.W.C. from an old theme.
[Music]
When avarice enslaves the mind, And selfish views alone bear sway Man turns a savage to his kind, And blood and rapine mark his way.
Alas! for this poor simple toy, I sold the hapless Negro boy.
His father"s hope, his mother"s pride, Though black, yet comely to the view I tore him helpless from their side, And gave him to a ruffian crew-- To fiends that Afric"s coast annoy, I sold the hapless Negro Boy.
From country, friends, and parents torn, His tender limbs in chains confined, I saw him o"er the billows borne, And marked his agony of mind; But still to gain this simple toy, I gave the weeping Negro Boy.
In isles that deck the western wave I doomed the hapless youth to dwell, A poor, forlorn, insulted slave!
A BEAST THAT CHRISTIANS BUY AND SELL!
And in their cruel tasks employ The much-enduring Negro Boy.
His wretched parents long shall mourn, Shall long explore the distant main In hope to see the youth return; But all their hopes and sighs are vain: They never shall the sight enjoy, Of their lamented Negro Boy.
Beneath a tyrant"s harsh command, He wears away his youthful prime; Far distant from his native land, A stranger in a foreign clime.
No pleasing thoughts his mind employ, A poor, dejected Negro Boy.
But He who walks upon the wind, Whose voice in thunder"s heard on high, Who doth the raging tempest bind, And hurl the lightning through the sky, In his own time will sure destroy The oppressor of the Negro Boy.
I AM MONARCH OF NOUGHT I SURVEY.
A Parody. Air "Old Dr. Fleury."
I am monarch of nought I survey, My wrongs there are none to dispute; My master conveys me away, His whims or caprices to suit.
O slavery, where are the charms That "patriarchs" have seen in thy face; I dwell in the midst of alarms, And serve in a horrible place.
I am out of humanity"s reach, And must finish my life with a groan; Never hear the sweet music of speech That tells me my body"s my own.
Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestowed upon some, Are blessings I never can prove, If slavery"s my portion to come.
Religion! what treasures untold, Reside in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver or gold, Or all that this earth can afford.
But I am excluded the light That leads to this heavenly grace; The Bible is clos"d to my sight, Its beauties I never can trace.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this sorrowful land, Some cordial endearing report, Of freedom from tyranny"s hand.
My friends, do they not often send, A wish or a thought after me?
O, tell me I yet have a friend, A friend I am anxious to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight; The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of Victoria"s domain, In a moment I seem to be there, But the fear of being taken again, Soon hurries me back to despair.