Lo, a wail of hopeless sorrow (Poem)

Lo, a wail of hopeless sorrow (Poem)

"When the news of the reduction of the sugar duties, by the British Parliament, reached Havanna, the city was illuminated; the price of slaves rose twenty five percent; and twelve slavers were about to be fitted for the coast of Africa for slaves." 
Letter from a friend

Lo, a wail of hopeless sorrow
Comes from Cuba's arid plains,
And the broad Brazilian valleys
Where Oppression proudly reigns,

And his fiery demons scatter
Pestilence with lavish hand
Like the plagues that swept in fury
Over Egypt's guilty land!

'Tis the wretched slave despairing
That his day of hope is o'er,
While a cry responsive rises
Over Afric's golden shore.

Mingled with that wail of anguish
Comes the sound of joy and mirth,
Like the mountain torrent breaking
From its darksome cavern forth.

Hark! it is the haughty Spaniard's 
And the glad Brazilian's shout,
'Mid the Universal wailing
Of the bondman, bursting out.

What can mean this strange confusion?
Are the fires of Freedom dead,
And the clouds of endless slavery
Black o'er hill and mountain head?

Are the foes of despotism
Driven from the battle-field?
Has the friend of Afric, fleeing,
Vilely cast away his shield?

Where is Liberty's fair Goddess?
Has she turned to take her flight?
Or the sun of Freedom, setting,
Left the world in Slavery's night?

That the broken hearted bondman
Pours afresh his sorrow forth,
While his iron-hearted master
Revels in indecent mirth!

Creole thieves--Brazilin tyrants
Rob the Negro of his toil--
England's silver buys the plunder
English freemen share the spoil.

England, slavery-hating England,
On oppression's dainties feeds --
'Tis for this the slaver gladdens,
And anew the captive bleeds!

Pause a moment, ye who revel
O'er the toil of weeping slaves,
Tell me who has sent those slaveships
O'er the broad Atlantic's waves?

Lo in Afric scenes of murder,
Robbery and revolting crime,
Horrid deeds that stand unrivalled
In the chronicles of Time!

Mark yon conflagrating village--
Hear those shrieks of wild despair --
Pause and tell me -- are ye guiltless?
Who has sent those slaveships there?

Foes to slavery, who have nobly
All its thousand wiles withstood,
Friends to Freedom, the world over,
Will ye buy the price of blood!

Hear ye not the voice of Clarkson
Speaking from the silent grave,
"Will YE aid in plundering Afric!
Will YE help to rob the slave!"

Heed ye then the solemn warning,
Led the robber keep his prey,
And with firm and noble purpose,
Turn ye from the spoil away.

Richmond, Ia., 12the mo. 22d, 1846.

R.T.R.

R.T.R.

The Non-Slaveholder
2:5, p. 96

5.1847