The Liberty Minstrel | Page 5

in that delicious wave!
My boy, my first-born babe, had died amid his early hours,?And there we laid him to his sleep among the clustering flowers; Yet lo! without my cottage-door he sported in his glee,?With her whose grave is far from his, beneath yon linden tree.
I sprang to snatch them to my soul; when breathing out my name, To grasp my hand, and press my lip, a crowd of loved ones came! Wife, parents, children, kinsmen, friends! the dear and lost ones all, With blessed words of welcome came, to greet me from my thrall.
Forms long unseen were by my side; and thrilling on my ear, Came cadences from gentle tones, unheard for many a year;?And on my cheeks fond lips were pressed, with true affection's kiss-- And so ye waked me from my sleep--but 'twas a dream of bliss!
SONG OF THE COFFLE GANG.[2]
[Footnote 2: 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.]
Words by the Slaves. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
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.
HARK! I HEAR A SOUND OF ANGUISH.
Air, "Calvary."
[Music]
Hark! I hear a sound of anguish?In my own, my native land;?Brethren, doomed in chains to languish,?Lift to heaven the suppliant hand,
And despairing,?And despairing,?Death the end of woe demand.
Let us raise our supplication?For the wretched suffering slave,?All whose life is desolation,?All whose hope is in the grave;
God of mercy!?From thy throne, O hear and save.
Those in bonds we would remember?As if we with them were bound;?For each crushed, each suffering member?Let our sympathies abound,
Till our labors?Spread the smiles of freedom round.
Even now the word is spoken;?"Slavery's cruel power must cease,?From the bound the chain be broken,?Captives hail the kind release,"
While in splendor?Comes to reign the Prince of Peace.
BROTHERS BE BRAVE FOR THE PINING SLAVE.
Air--"Sparkling and Bright."
[Music]
Solo.
Heavy and cold in his dungeon hold,?Is the yoke of the oppressor;?Dark o'er the soul is the fell control?Of the stern and dread transgressor.
Chorus.
Oh then come all to bring the thrall?Up from his deep despairing,?And out of the jaw of the bandit's law,?Retake the prey he's tearing:?O then come all to bring the thrall?Up from his deep despairing,?And out of the jaw of the bandit's law,?Retake the prey he's tearing.
Brothers be brave for the pining slave,?From his wife and children riven;?From every vale their bitter wail?Goes sounding up to Heaven.?Then for the life of that poor wife,?And for those children pining;?O ne'er give o'er till the chains no more?Around their limbs are twining.
Gloomy and damp is the low rice swamp,?Where their meagre bands are wasting;?All worn and weak, in vain they seek?For rest, to the cool shade hasting;?For drivers fell, like fiends from hell,?Cease not their savage shouting;?And the scourge's crack, from quivering back,?Sends up the red blood spouting.
Into the grave looks only the slave,?For rest to his limbs aweary;?His spirit's light comes from that night,?To us so dark and dreary.?That soul shall nurse its heavy curse?Against a day of terror,?When the lightning gleam of his wrath shall stream?Like fire, on the hosts of error.
Heavy and stern are the bolts which burn?In the right hand of Jehovah;?To smite the strong red arm of wrong,?And dash his temples over;?Then on amain to rend the chain,?Ere bursts the vallied thunder;?Right onward speed till the slave is freed--?His manacles torn asunder.
E.D.H.
THE QUADROON MAIDEN.
Words by Longfellow. Theme from the Indian Maid.
[Music]
The Slaver in the broad lagoon,?Lay moored with idle sail;?He waited for the rising moon,?And for the evening gale.
The Planter under his roof of thatch,?Smoked thoughtfully and slow;?The Slaver's thumb was on the latch,?He seemed in haste to go.
He said, "My ship at anchor rides?In yonder broad lagoon;?I only wait the evening tides,?And the rising of the moon."
Before them, with her face upraised,?In timid attitude,?Like one half curious, half amazed,?A Quadroon maiden stood.
And on her lips there played a smile?As holy, meek, and faint,?As lights, in some cathedral aisle,?The features of a saint.
"The soil is barren, the farm is old,"?The thoughtful Planter said,?Then looked upon the Slaver's gold,?And then upon the maid.
His heart within