The Anti-Slavery Harp | Page 7

man
to play:--
The hounds are baying on my track;

O Christian! will you
send me back?

I felt the stripes, the lash I saw,
Red, dripping with a father's gore;

And worst of all their lawless law,
The insults that my mother bore!

The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me
back?
Where human law o'errules Divine,
Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell

My wife and babes,--I call them mine,--
And where they suffer,
who can tell?
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will
you send me back?
I seek a home where man is man,
If such there be upon this earth,

To draw my kindred, if I can,
Around its free, though humble hearth.

The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me
back?
RESCUE THE SLAVE!
AIR--The Troubadour.
This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was
confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back to
Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.
Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
Listen awhile to the story we tell;

Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair! Lady fair! weep
for the slave.
Praying for liberty, dearer than life,
Torn from his little one, torn
from his wife,
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian
men! Christian men! help the poor slave.
Think of his agony, feel for his pain,
Should his hard master e'er hold
him again;
Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave,
Make him free,
make him free, rescue the slave.
Freely the slave master goes where he will;
Freemen, stand ready, his

wishes to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave,
Thinking
not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead;
See the slave master's whip over
our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston boys!
Boston boys! catch me my slaves.
Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late;
Slavery is knocking, at every
gate,
Make good the promise, your early days gave,
Boston boys!
Boston boys! rescue the slave.
THE SLAVE-HOLDER'S ADDRESS TO THE NORTH STAR.
Star of the North! Thou art not bigger
Than is the diamond in my ring;

Yet, every black, star-gazing nigger
Looks at thee, as at some great
thing!
Yes, gazes at thee, till the lazy
And thankless rascal is half
crazy.
Some Abolitionist has told them,
That, if they take their flight toward
thee,
They'll get where "massa" cannot hold them,
And therefore to
the North they flee.
Fools to be led off, where they can't earn
Their
living, by thy lying lantern.
We will to New England write,
And tell them not to let thee shine

(Excepting of a cloudy night)
Anywhere south of Dixon's line;
If
beyond that thou shine an inch,
We'll have thee up before Judge
Lynch.
And when, thou Abolition star,
Who preachest Freedom in all
weathers,
Thou hast got on thy coat of tar,
And over that, a cloak of
feathers,
Thou art "fixed" none will deny,
If there's a fixed star in
the sky.
SONG OF THE COFFLE GANG.
This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs,

when parting from friends for the far off South--children taken from
parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.
See these poor souls from Africa,
Transported to America:
We are
stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me? We are stolen
and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.
See wives and husbands sold apart,
The children's screams!--it breaks
my heart;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?

There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
O, gracious Lord? when shall it be,
That we poor souls shall all be
free?
Lord, break them Slavery powers--will you go along with me?
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.
Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls can
have our peace;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with
me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
ZAZA--THE FEMALE SLAVE.
O, my country, my country!
How long I for thee,
Far over the
mountain,
Far over the sea.
Where the sweet Joliba,
Kisses the
shore,
Say, shall I wander
By thee never more?
Where the sweet
Joliba kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more.
Say, O fond Zurima,
Where dost thou stay?
Say, doth another
List
to thy sweet lay?
Say, doth the orange still
Bloom near our cot?

Zurima, Zurima,
Am I forgot?
O, my country, my country, how
long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Under the baobab
Oft have I slept,
Fanned by sweet breezes
That
over me swept.
Often in dreams
Do my weary limbs lay
'Neath
the same baobab,
Far, far away.
O, my country, my country, how
long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

O, for the breath
Of our own waving palm,
Here, as I languish,

My spirit to calm--
O, for a draught
From our own cooling lake,

Brought by sweet mother,
My spirit to wake.
O, my country, my
country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
YE HERALDS OF FREEDOM.
Ye heralds of freedom,