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From my Nicon's dear love, from the infantile smile
Of iny Aboo, to drag me along; If then, the wild anguish that pierced through my heart Was seen in its terrors by thee,
O ease my sad smart,
And thy sanction impart, That Afric at last may be free!
If while in the slave-ship with many a groan,
I weep o'er my suff'rings in vain ;
With the clanking of many a chain;
O thy mercy apply
Afric's sorrows to dry, And bid the poor Negro be free !
If here as I faint in the vertical sun,
And the scourge goads me on to my toil ;
Of one joy my lone heart to beguile.
Oh impart thou thy aid,
That the scourge may be stay'd, And the black man at last may be free !
In Sherwood's ancient forest, a thousand oak trees
died, Ere by the shore, the Ocean Queen, was towering
in her pride. Majestically slow, the ship descended to the main, And there was in that motion, the right unto her reign.
High up into the clear blue sky, she flung her cloud
like sails, All brightening in the sunshine, and floating in the
gales. And, as deep down within the sea, her mighty
shadow lay, Did not the peaceful pageant give glory to the day?
Although the Ocean Queen at rest, be beautiful and
bright, It is through storm and darkness, she walketh in
delight; And when the moon and stars, are swept from out the
howling heaven, In her dread joy along the deep, the Ocean Queen is
But most the noble vessel, exulted in her glee,
The landed foes of freedom quak’d, when she was
on the deep, And fear built up her battlements in vain upon the
steep. In her untarnished triumph she sail'd back from the
war, When Villeneuve and Gravina struck their flags at
And now she lies at anchor in regal-like repose, While her unconquered crew lament the fall of all
her foes; And as they tread the steadfast decks, bethink them
of the blasts That in the winter midnights went roaring through
What tho' her standard in the calm hath lost its
gorgeous glow, The guardian form be faded that threatens on her
prow; And storm-stain'd be her canvass that shone so bright
It is the gloom of danger the gallant vessel bore.
In battle and in tempest for her we had no fears,
mutineers, And they would cut her cables as she at anchor lay, And send the Ocean Queen adrift, and burning
through the bay.
But brook'd not her own Admiral, that perjured
hands should dare To touch her storm-proof tackling, or unfurl her
sails so fair, So he bade, 'mid his victorious crew, the signal-gun
to roar, And a hundred flashing forts returned the thunders
from the shore.
Then were the men of England, for sake of England seen In armed barges rowing all around the Ocean Queen; And chain'd were those pale mutineers (as if in
sport 'twere done,) While the ship with all her canvass set kept sailing
in the sun.
When back into the moorings the Ocean Queen
returned, While far off in her troubled wake the billows flashed
and burned, Till slowly her sheet-anchor sunk to its rock again, And England's royal standard is flying at her main.
He spoke; but they regarded not,
It seem'd an idle tale,
The waters should prevail.
The hour of vengeance nigh ;
And His own power defy.
Year rolled on year—the pond'rous ark
Was not as yet complete, And morn and eve, the patriarch's voice,
Was heard in accents sweet, “ Where is your God ?” with taunting air
They raise the insulting cry; “What sign that over this bright earth,
The watery waste should lie ?”
At length 'twas done ; and tho' no cloud
Darkened the sky so fair,
And hallowed it with prayer.
Safely secured within,