« 上一页继续 »
No dangerous tale of Him who came to save
The outcast and the poor.
But wisely shut the ray
One stern command—“ OBEY."
So shalt thou deftly raise The market price of human flesh; and while On thee, their pampered guest, the planters smile,
Thy church shall praise.
Grave reverend men shall tell From Northern pulpits how thy work was blest, While in that vile South Sodom, first and best,
Thy poor disciples sell!
Oh, shame! the Moslem thrall,
His fetters break and fall.
Cheers for the turbaned Bey
Their inmates into day.
But our poor slave in vain
And rivet on his chain.
God of all right! how long
Shall priestly robbers at Thine altar stand,
Oh, from the fields of cane,
From the low rice-swamp, from the trader's cell— From the black slave-ship's foul and loathsome hell, And coffle's weary chain,
Hoarse, horrible, and strong Rises to Heaven that agonizing cry, Filling the arches of the hollow sky,
HOW LONG-OH, GOD, HOW LONG!
OUR COUNTRYMEN IN CHAINS.
OUR fellow-countrymen in chains!
Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war!
A wail where Camden's martyrs fellBy every shrine of patriot blood,
From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well!
By storied hill and hallowed grot,
And hurrying shout of Marion's men.
The groan of breaking hearts is there
The falling lash-the fetter's clank ! Slaves—SLAVES are breathing in that air
Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank!
What, ho !-our countrymen in chains !
The whip on woman's shrinking flesh! Our soil yet reddening with the stains
Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh! What! mothers from their children riven!
What! God's own image bought and sold ! AMERICANS to market driven,
And bartered as the brute for gold !
Speak! shall their agony of prayer
Come thrilling to our hearts in vain ?
The paltry menace of a chain;
Of holy Liberty and Light-
Plead vainly for their plundered Right?
What! shall we send, with lavish breath,
Our sympathies across the wave Where Manhood, on the field of death,
Strikes for his freedom, or a grave ? Shall prayers go up, and hymns be sung
For Greece, the Moslem fetter spurning, And millions hail with pen and tongue
Our light on all her altars burning?
Shall Belgium feel, and gallant France,
By Vendome's pile and Schoenbrun's wall,
And Poland, gasping on her lance,
The impulse of our cheering call? And shall the SLAVE, beneath our eye,
Clank o'er our fields his hateful chain? And toss his fettered arms on high,
And groan for Freedom's gift in vain?
Oh, say, shall Prussia's banner be
A refuge for the stricken slave? And shall the Russian serf go free
By Baikal's lake and Neva's wave? And shall the wintry-bosomed Dane
Relax the iron hand of pride,
Shall every flap of England's flag
Proclaim that all around are free, From "farthest Ind" to each blue crag That beetles o'er the Western Sea? And shall we scoff at Europe's kings,
When Freedom's fire is dim with us, And round our country's altar clings
The damning shade of Slavery's curse?
Go-let us ask of Constantine
To loose his grasp on Poland's throat; And beg the lord of Mahmoud's line
To spare the struggling SulioteWill not the scorching answer come
From turbaned Turk, and fiery Russ: "Go, loose your fettered slaves at home, Then turn, and ask the like of us!"
Just God! and shall we calmly rest,
The Christian's scorn-the Heathen's mirthContent to live the lingering jest
And by-word of a mocking Earth? Shall our own glorious land retain
That curse which Europe scorns to bear? Shall our own brethren drag the chain
Which not even Russia's menials wear?
Up, then, in Freedom's manly part,
From graybeard eld to fiery youth, And on the nation's naked heart
Scatter the living coals of Truth! Up—while ye slumber, deeper yet
The shadow of our fame is growing! Up—while ye pause, our sun may set
In blood, around our altars flowing !
Oh! rouse ye, ere the storm comes forth
The gathered wrath of God and manLike that which wasted Egypt's earth,
When hail and fire above it ran. Hear ye no warnings in the air ?
Feel ye no earthquake underneath? Up-up—why will ye slumber where
The sleeper only wakes in death?
Up now for Freedom !--not in strifo
Like that your sterner fathers saw-
The glory and the guilt of war:
And smite to earth Oppression's rod,