by George Moses Horton (1797-1884/Northampton, North Carolina)
Alas! and am I born for this, To wear this slavish chain? Deprived of all created bliss, Through hardship, toil and pain! How long in bondage have I lain, And languished to be free! Alas! and must I still complain - Deprived of liberty. Oh, Heaven! and is there no relief This side the silent grave - To soothe the pain- to quell the grief And anguish of a slave. Come Liberty, thou cheerful sound, Roll through my ravished ears! Come, let my grief in joys be drowned, And drive away my fears. Say unto foul oppression, Cease: Ye tyrants rage no more, And let the joyful trump of peace, Now bid the vassal soar. Soar on the pinions of that dove Which long has cooed for thee, And breathed her notes from Afric's grove, The sound of Liberty. Oh Liberty! thou golden prize, So often sought by blood - We crave thy sacred sun to rise, The gift of nature's God: Bid Slavery hide her haggard face, And bid barbarism fly: I scorn to see the sad disgrace In which enslaved I lie. Dear Liberty! upon thy breast, I languish to respire; And like the Swan unto her nest, I'd to thy smiles retire. Oh, blest asylum -- heavenly balm! Unto thy boughs I flee - And in thy shades the storm shall calm, With songs of Liberty!