Libertas: Quae Sera Tamen, Respexit, &c. &c., by John Parker
Virg. Ecl. 1.
'Tis o'er. -- Britannia rules without a stain;
The Queen of Nations is herself again; --
O'er the vast climes that call her monarch -- lord --
Where'er her arts or sceptre has explored, --
From the gay coasts whence comes the rising sun,
To those he sinks in when his race is run, --
Search as you will her realms from sea to sea,
You'll find her still the "Freest of the Free."
Star of my country! what can Fame entwine
For Rome or Athens, that will vie with thine?
Of Spartan liberty though Poets feign,
The Helot groaned beneath a Spartan chain;
With "equal laws" Colombia may resound,
Those "equal laws" the Negro has not found;
In arts of war, the Franks our rivals move,
But are they rivals in the arts of love?
Star of my country! what so bright a course
As thine, of freedom both th' effect and source?
How just, let those declare who know it best;
How godlike, say, ye Children of the West!
Chartered thyself, thou hadst the power to save,
And in its volume you include the Slave.
Why then those tears do Nubian mothers pour?
Why echoes Albion their grief with more?
Why, when this solid globe from pole to pole
Rings with loud anthems, recent from the soul,
Falls there, as joyous trains and pomps pass by,
A sympathetic drop from every eye?
Struck with a sight so strange, I turn and pause,
But 'tis in England that I see the cause.
For at that hour when all the welkin rung
With plaudits, saints or angels might have sung,
On his last bed, himself o'erjoyed as they,
The Negro's Friend -- the "Liberator" lay:
It seemed as if by Heaven's indulgent laws,
His life was made coeval with his cause:
Too short the full development to see, --
Just long enough to leave the captive free.
Like a good hour-glass, faithful as he ran,
The founder of his question, and the span.
Oh! wise coincidence, most kindly given
"That all may see the power that comes from Heaven."
So, when young Wolfe maintained his country's cause,
Far from his mother-land, in distant wars,
Though trophied heralds swept across the main,
They came with tidings of the hero -- slain.
So, the gale told which brought Trafalgar's fame,
That naught remained of Nelson -- but a name.
So, on Coruña's height we found relief --
So, on Coruña's height we left a chief.
Turn we from arms. -- What time awakened zeal
For Afric's sufferings first began to feel,
When that bad commerce o'er the Atlantic ran
And impious man presumed to trade in man:
Our eldest triumph had to shed a tear;
And Fox's laurels but adorned his bier.
'Twas from those lips inspired with love of kind,
By genius kindled, and by art refined, --
'Twas from that tongue which Senates loved so well,
Binding the prostrate audience like a spell, --
'Twas from that heart, which pure and unconfined,
Let loose the fervid virtues of his mind, --
That British Statesmen first were taught to see
That man -- whate'er his colour -- must be free.
Him, distant lands, and rival nations saw,
The noble founder of the noblest law, --
To Sidney's faith he Somers' lore allied,
And both with warm philanthropy applied --
In Russel's course we saw him strong to run,
Great Chatham's true and undegenerate son.
Yet the same year that gave him power to save,
Gave him, alas! -- a statue and a grave.
Then weep no more, -- but gayer numbers call,
'Tis thus that heroes and that statesmen fall.
That life is best, which Heaven to each allots --
That space is long enough, which has no blots.
So thought the Christian. -- "I have lived," he cried,
(Mark, oh! ye readers, how the just man died!)
"What though my day wanes fast -- my life-blood fails --
"And all within me, but my spirit, quails --
"I've lived to see my country cast away
"The unjustest traffic in the justest way!"
It was enough -- him, -- nor the storied urn, --
Nor lamps that with Arabian fragrance burn --
Him -- nor the sculptor's art, or painter's fame,
Can raise -- or take a cypher from his name.
But when in after times the Niger pours
A righteous commerce o'er enfranchised shores,
Wide as the poles asunder, in renown,
His name shall travel as an heir-loom down:
His scroll -- the names of nations unenslaved;
His monument -- the myriads that he saved.
John Parker.
Woodthorpe, near Sheffield.
Nov. 20, 1833.