Our prospect opening and our bliss in store!
What though our state, in untried prime, appears
A freighted vessel on the flood of years;
Though unknown perils, tempests, foes and shelves
Surround, and factions rise amidst ourselves;
Though worlds combin'd, or adverse fates annoy,
What but disunion can our bliss destroy?
In toils of peace inure their nerves for war,
See what dark prospect interrupts our joy!
What arm presumptuous dares our trade annoy?
Great God! the rovers who infest thy waves
Have seiz'd our ships, and made our freemen slaves:
And hark! the cries of that disastrous band
Float o'er the main, and reach Columbia's strand
The wild alarm from ocean spreads around,
And circling echoes propagate the sound,
From smooth Saluda, fed with silver rills,
Up the Blue-Ridge, o'er Alleghanean hills,
To where Niagara tremendous roars,
As o'er white-sheeted rocks his torrent pours;
(The dreadful cataract whole regions shakes
Of boundless woods, and congregated lakes!)
To farthest Kennebeck, adown whose tide
The future ships, unfashion'd, monstrous glide,
On whose rough banks, where stood the savage den,
The axe is heard, and busy hum of men-
But hark! their labours and their accents cease,
A warning voice has interdicted peace;
Has spread through cities, gain'd remotest farms,
And fir'd th' indignant States with new alarms;
The sickly flame in ev'ry bosom burns,
Like gloomy torches in sepulchral urns,
Why sleep'st thou, Barlow, child of genius? why
See'st thou, blest Dwight, our land in sadness lie?
And where is Trumbull, earliest boast of fame ?
'Tis yours, ye bards, to wake the smother'd flame
To you, my dearest friends! the task belongs
To rouse your country with heroic songs;
For me, though glowing with conceptions warm,
I find no equal words to give them form:
Pent in my breast, the madd'ning tempest raves,
Like prison'd fires in Ætna's burning caves;
For me why will no thund'ring numbers roll?
Why, niggard language, dost thou balk my soul?
Come thou sweet feeling of another's woe,
That mak'st the heart to melt, the eye to flow!
Deep-stinging sensibility of wrong,
Aid indignation, and inspire my song!
Teach me curst slav'ry's cruel woes to paint,
Beneath whose weight our captur'd freemen faint!
Teach me in shades of Stygian night to trace,
In characters of hell, the pirate race!
Teach me, prophetic, to disclose their doom→→
A new-born nation trampling on their tomb!
What mortal terrors all my senses seize, Possess my heart, and life's warm current freeze?
Why grow my eyes with thick suffusions dim?
What visionary forms before me swim?
Where am I? Heav'ns! what mean these dol'rous cries? And what these horrid scenes that round me rise?
Heard ye the groans, those messengers of pain?
Heard ye the clanking of the captive's chain?
Heard ye your free-born sons their fate deplore,
Pale in their chains and lab'ring at the oar?
Saw ye the dungeon, in whose blackest cell,
That house of woe, your friends, your children dwell?
Or saw ye those, who dread the tort'ring hour,
Crush'd by the rigours of a tyrant's pow'r?
Saw ye the shrinking slave, th' uplifted lash,
The frowning butcher, and the redd'ning gash?
Saw ye the fresh blood where it bubbling broke,
From purple scars, beneath the grinding stroke?
Saw ye the naked limbs writh'd to and fro,
In wild contortions of convulsing woe?
Felt ye the blood, with pangs alternate roll'd,
Thrill through your veins and freeze with death-like cold, 90 Or fire, as down the tear of pity stole,
Your manly breasts, and harrow up the soul!
Some guardian pow'r in mercy intervene,
Hide from my dizzy eyes the cruel scene!
Oh, stop the shrieks that tear my tortur'd ear!
Ye visions, vanish! dungeons, disappear!
Ye fetters, burst! ye monsters fierce, avaunt!
Infernal furies on those monsters haunt!
Pursue the foot-steps of that miscreant crew,
Pursue in flames, with hell-born rage pursue!
Shed such dire curses as all utt'rance mock,
Whose plagues astonish and whose horrors shock!
Great maledictions of eternal wrath,
Which, like heav'n's vial'd vengeance, singe and scathe,
Transfix with scorpion stings the callous heart,
Make blood-shot eye-balls from their sockets start!
For balm, pour brimstone in their wounded soul;
Then ope, perdition! and ingulf them whole!
How long will heav'n restrain its bursting ire,
Nor rain blue tempests of devouring fire?
How long shall widows weep their sons in vain,
The prop of years, in slav'ry's iron chain?
How long the love-sick maid, unheeded, rove
The sounding shore, and call her absent love;
With wasting fears and sighs his lot bewail,
And seem to see him in each coming sail?
How long the merchant turn his failing eyes,
In desperation, on the seas and skies,
And ask his captur'd ships, his ravish'd goods,
With frantic ravings, of the heav'ns and floods?
How long, Columbians dear! will ye complain
Of wrongs unpunish'd on the midland main?
In timid sloth shall injur'd brav'ry sleep?
Awake! awake! avengers of the deep!
Revenge! revenge! the voice of nature cries;
Awake to glory, and to vengeance rise!
To arms! to arms! ye bold, indignant bands!
'Tis Heav'n inspires, 'tis God himself commands:
Save human nature from such deadly harms,
By force of reason, or by force of arms,
Oh ye great pow'rs, who passports basely crave
From Afric's lords, to sail the midland wave-
Great fallen pow'rs, whose gems and golden bribes
Buy paltry passports from these savage tribes!
Ye, whose fine purples, silks, and stuffs of gold,
(An annual tribute) their dark limbs infold
Ye, whose mean policy for them equips,
To plague mankind, the predatory ships—
Why will ye buy your infamy so dear?
Is it self-int'rest, or a dastard fear?
Is it because you meanly think to gain
A richer commerce on the th' infested main?
Is it because you meanly wish to see
Your rivals chain'd, yourselves ignobly free?
Who gave commission to these monsters fierce
To hold in chains the humbled universe?
Would God, would nature, would their conquʼring swords,
Without your meanness, make them ocean's lords?
What! do ye fear? nor dare their pow'r provoke?
Would not that bubble burst beneath your stroke?
And shall the weak remains of barb'rous rage,
Insulting, triumph o'er th' enlighten'd age?
Do ye not feel confusion, horror, shame,
To bear a hateful, tributary name?
Will ye not aid to wipe the foul disgrace,
And break the fetters from the human race?
Then, though unaided by these mighty pow'rs,
Ours be the toil; the danger, glory ours:
Then, oh my friends! by heav'n ordain'd to free
From tyrant rage, the long-infested sea-
Then let us firm, though solitary, stand,
The sword and olive-branch in either hand:
An equal peace propose with reason's voice,
Or rush to arms, if arms should be their choice.
Stung by their crimes, can aught your vengeance stay? 165 Can terror daunt you? or can death dismay? The soul enrag'd, can threats, can tortures tame, Or the dank dungeon quench th' ethereal flame? Have ye not once to heav'n's dread throne appeal'd, And has not heav'n your independence seal'd? What was the pow'r ye dar'd that time engage, And brave the terrors of its hostile rage?
Was it not Britain, great in warlike toils,
The first of nations, as the queen of isles?
Britain, whose fleets, that rul'd the briny surge,
Made navies tremble to its utmost verge;
Whose single arm held half the world at odds,
Great nurse of sages, bards and demi-gods!
But what are these, whose threat'nings round you burst?
Of men the dregs, the feeblest, vilest, worst:
These are the pirates from the Barb'ry strand,
Audacious miscreants, fierce, yet feeble band!
Who, impious, dare (no provocation giv'n)
Insult the rights of man-the laws of heav'n!
Wilt thou not rise, oh God, to plead our cause,
Assert thine honour, and defend thy laws!
Wilt thou not bend the highest heav'ns to hear
The pris'ner's cry, and stop the falling tear!
Wilt thou not strike the guilty race with dread,
On impious realms thy tenfold fury shed!
Oh thou Most High, be innocence thy care,
Oh, make thy red right arm of vengeance bare!
Resume, in wrath, the thunders thou hast hurl'd
To blight the tenants of the nether world!
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