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• 1 2023-09-15T17:18:56+00:00 Visions of Slavery, by Mary Howitt 11 Poem by Mary Howitt plain 2025-01-07T20:36:58+00:00
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  "Many groans arise from dying men which we hear not.
  "Many cries are uttered by widows and fatherless children which reach not our ears.
  "Many cheeks are wet with tears, and faces sad with unutterable grief, which we see not.
  "Cruel tyranny is encouraged. The hands of robbers are strengthened, and thousands reduced to the most abject slavery who never injured us.
  "Were we for the term of one year only to be eye-witnesses to what paaseth in getting these slaves; -- were the blood which is shed to be sprinkled on our garments; -- were the poor captives, bound with thongs, heavy-laden with elephants' teeth, to pass before our eyes on their way to the sea; -- were their bitter lamentations, day after day, to ring in our ears, and their mournful cries in the night to hinder us from sleeping; -- were we to hear the sound of the tumult, when the slaves on board the ships attempt to kill the English, and behold the issue of these bloody conflicts -- what pious man could be a witness to these things, and see a trade carried on in this manner, without feeling deeply affected with sorrow?"
  
  John Woolman's Journal.
  
  ----
  
  I.
  I have had visions of dismay, 
    Of guilt and agony and fear,
  Of dark deeds which ne'er saw the day, 
    That men would shrink to hear;
  I have seen war come sweeping o'er
    A land, with fire, and sword, and chain; 
  And all her sons lie heaped in gore
    Upon the battle plain;--
  
  II.
  And heard how woman's terror broke 
    Forth in her frantic midnight cries,
  When first the mighty city's smoke 
    Burst blackening to the skies:
  I've seen the clinging infant slain 
    Before its kneeling mother's face,
  And guilty deed, and bloody stain 
    Within the holy place.
  
  III.
  I've seen the loathsome pestilence 
    Through a vast city stalk in gloom;
  And each night thousands carried thence 
    Into a common tomb;
  When man cared not for death or life, 
    Nor mothers o'er their children wept,
  And foe met foe, yet knew no strife, 
    For love and hatred slept.
  
  IV.
  I have had visions of the wave,
    Of night-storm, mutiny, and wreck; 
  Seen dead men to their nameless grave,
    Lowered slowly from the deck: 
  The loved of many hearts laid low
    Within the ocean's boiling foam;
  And old men saved through fight and woe, 
    Whom none might welcome home.
  
  V.
  Alas! alas! of broken heart
    I have had knowledge, secret pain, 
  Remorse and fear, the soul-sick smart,
    And the damp dungeon's chain: 
  Through grief my spirit has been led,
    Though pain and sorrow to the grave; 
  But ne'er came aught of crime and dread,
    Like visions of the slave.
  
  VI.
  
  I saw the curs'd ship which did bear 
    For freight a thousand slaves away,
  And breathed the hot and putrid air 
    Of darkness where they lay;
  I heard their fearful groans arise,
    The curse, the lash, the clanking chain; 
  Nor have their loud and frenzied cries,
    From that day left my brain.
  
  VII.
  I saw them, mother torn from child, 
    Love's holy bonds asunder riven;
  Beheld them kneel, and heard their wild 
    And mournful prayer to Heaven:
  I saw the white man standing by, 
    Unmoved, with cold unpitying breast,
  A laughing scorn was in his eye, 
    Upon his lips a jest.
  
  VIII.
  Then in my soul's indignant might,
    I cried, Great God, from Heaven look down!
  Even then rose cries of strange affright, 
    As from a captured town;
  God's angel was sent forth again,
    Another sinful race to smite,
  Even as was the Egyptian slain
    Yet spared the Israelite.
  
  IX.
  Then came contagion like a flood, 
    Sweeping its thousands to the grave;
  But all unmoved the Negro stood, 
    Heaven-guarded from its wave.
  Then the white mother hung and wept 
    In anguish o'er her first-born dead;
  The negro babe and mother slept 
    Unharmed, secure from dread.
  
  X.
  But youths and maids on every hand
    Like frost-nipped flowers were borne away, 
  Yet did the aged negro stand
    To gaze upon their clay:
  When bent the white man o'er the grave 
    Where love and hope and friend was laid;
  The avenging terror left the slave 
    Untouched and undismayed.
  
  XI.
  I saw it, and I bent my knee
    In confidence that God was just; 
  Nor vain the prayer that misery
    Breathed to Him from the dust.
  I saw it, and my faith sprung up 
    Assured that God was strong to save;
  And from His holy Heaven would stoop 
    To raise the fallen slave.
  
  Mary Howitt.
  
  Nottingham.