To the Slave, by Richard Winter Hamilton
The common victim marked by lust of gain
And lust of blood,––insulted Afric's son !
Brother! 'gainst whom I trespass day by day,
While I on thee leave chains unmerited,
To gall thy flesh and eat into thy soul!
My brother! of whose blood wantonly shed
The loud-voic'd accents ring to Heaven's high throne!
Ah! who will help thee? all whose sighs the winds
Catch up and scatter:––all whose scalding tears
The treacherous ocean or the slave-isle drinks?
Call ye on thee t' avenge thy wrongs? to burst
Thy thraldom? to assert humanity?
We would, we dare, not tell thee that thou may'st
Not be the rather free! Nor can we check
The inspiration which unshackles limbs
Made to be free, and souls, to be divine!
Yet shalt thou be avenged! Thy tears, thy blood,
Have long been exhaled from earth: vast the cloud
And dark which rolls above: filled with portents,
Forth volleys many a flash, glaring red wrath!
The tempest of th' Almighty's fury, loud
Its roar and fell its sweep! He directs it
Who hears the captive's groan, and He who breaks
The oppressor's rod;––His thunders do not sleep!
His justice is not warped, nor is His mercy
Clean gone for ever! Vengeance still is His!
He will repay!
Richard Winter Hamilton.
March 29, 1827.