would have taken my life,

If he had not miss’d his stroke with a knife!

“The struggle in no long time was done,

Because, you know, we were two to one;

But yet all our strength we were fain to try,

Piet Pieterszoon, my son, and I.

“When we had got him on the ground,

We fastened his hands, and his legs we bound;

And across the horse we laid him then,

And brought him back to the house again.

“We have robb’d the gallows, and that was ill done!”

Said I to Piet Pieterszoon, my son;

“And restitution we must make

To that same gallows, for justice’ sake”.

“In his suit of irons the rogue we array’d,

And once again in the cart he was laid!

Night not yet so far was spent,

But there was time enough for our intent;

And back to the triple tree we went.

“His own rope was ready there;

To measure the length we took good care;

And the job which the bungling Hangman begun,

This time, I think, was properly done

By me and Piet Pieterszoon, my son”.

Poems On The Slave Trade

1

Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain

Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood?

For ever must your Nigers tainted flood

Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain?

Hold your mad hands! what daemon prompts to rear

The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore

Can hell-sprung Glory claim the feast of gore,

With laurels water’d by the widow’s tear

Wreathing his helmet crown? lift high the spear!

And like the desolating whirlwinds sweep,

Plunge ye yon bark of anguish in the deep;

For the pale fiend, cold-hearted Commerce there

Breathes his gold-gender’d pestilence afar,

And calls to share the prey his kindred Daemon War.

2

Why dost thou beat thy breast and rend thine hair,

And to the deaf sea pour thy frantic cries?

Before the gale the laden vessel flies;

The Heavens all-favoring smile, the breeze is fair;

Hark to the clamors of the exulting crew!

Hark how their thunders mock the patient skies!

Why dost thou shriek and strain thy red-swoln eyes

As the white sail dim lessens from thy view?

Go pine in want and anguish and despair,

There is no mercy found in human-kind —

Go Widow to thy grave and rest thee there!

But may the God of Justice bid the wind

Whelm that curst bark beneath the mountain wave,

And bless with Liberty and Death the Slave!

3

Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run

Down his dark cheek; hold — hold thy merciless hand,

Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command

O’er wearied Nature sinks. The scorching Sun,

As pityless as proud Prosperity,

Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies

Arraigning with his looks the patient skies,

While that inhuman trader lifts on high

The mangling scourge. Oh ye who at your ease

Sip the blood-sweeten’d beverage! thoughts like these

Haply ye scorn: I thank thee Gracious God!

That I do feel upon my cheek the glow

Of indignation, when beneath the rod

A sable brother writhes in silent woe.

4

’Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep

As undisturb’d as Justice! but no more

The wretched Slave, as on his native shore,

Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep!

Tho’ thro’ the toil and anguish of the day

No tear escap’d him, not one suffering groan

Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone

In bitterness; thinking that far away

Tho’ the gay negroes join the midnight song,

Tho’ merriment resounds on Niger’s shore,

She whom he loves far from the chearful throng

Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door

With dim grown eye, silent and woe-begone,

And weeps for him who will return no more.

5

Did then the bold Slave rear at last the Sword

Of Vengeance? drench’d he deep its thirsty blade

In the cold bosom of his tyrant lord?

Oh! who shall blame him? thro’ the midnight shade

Still o’er his tortur’d memory rush’d the thought

Of every past delight; his native grove,

Friendship’s best joys, and Liberty and Love,

All lost for ever! then Remembrance wrought

His soul to madness; round his restless bed

Freedom’s pale spectre stalk’d, with a stern smile

Pointing the wounds of slavery, the while

She shook her chains and hung her sullen head:

No more on Heaven he calls with fruitless breath,

But sweetens with revenge, the draught of death.

6

High in the air expos’d the Slave is hung

To all the birds of Heaven, their living food!

He groans not, tho’ awaked by that fierce Sun

New torturers live to drink their parent blood!

He groans not, tho’ the gorging Vulture tear

The quivering fibre! hither gaze O ye

Who tore this Man from Peace and Liberty!

Gaze hither ye who weigh with scrupulous care

The right and prudent; for beyond the grave

There is another world! and call to mind,

Ere your decrees proclaim to all mankind

Murder is legalized, that there