Ode on the Abolition of Slavery, by Lord Morpeth
Proudly on Cressy's tented wold
The Lion-flag of England flew;
As proudly gleamed its crimson fold
O'er the dun heights of Waterloo:
But other lyres shall greet the brave;
Sing now, that we have Freed the Slave.
The Ocean plain, where Nelson bled,
Fair Commerce plies with peaceful oar,
Duteous o'er Britain's clime to shed
The gathered spoil of every shore:
To-day across th' Atlantic sea
Shout -- shout ye, that the Slave is Free.
And Eloquence in rushing streams
Has flowed our halls and courts along,
Or kindled mid yet loftier dreams
The glowing bursts of glorious Song:
Let both their noblest burthen pour,
To tell that Slavery is no more.
Bright Science through each field of space
Has urged her mist-dispelling car,
Coy Nature's hidden reign to trace,
To weigh each wind, and count each star:
Yet stay, thou proud Philosophy,
First stoop to bid Mankind be Free.
And Freedom has been long our own,
With all her soft and generous train,
To gild the lustre of the throne,
And guard the labour of the plain:
Ye heirs of ancient Runnymede!
*Your* Slaves -- oh! could it be? -- are Freed.
Ah! for the tale the Slave could speak,
Ah! for the shame of Britain's sway,
On Afric sands the maddened shriek,
'Neath Indian suns the burning day:
Ye sounds of guilt -- ye sights of gore --
Away! for Slavery is no more.
Mid the drear haunts of Force and Strife,
The Ministers of Peace shall stand,
And pour the welling words of Life
Around a parched and thirsty land;
While, spread beneath the tamarind tree,
Rise "happy homes, and altars Free."
Ye isles, that court the tropic rays,
Clustered on Ocean's sapphire breast,
Ye feathery bowers, ye fairy bays,
In more than fable now -- "the Blest:"
Waft on each gale your choral strain,
Till every land has rent the chain.
Oh! England, empire's home and head,
First in each art of peace and power,
Mighty the billow crest to tread,
Mighty to rule the battle hour, --
But mightiest to relieve and save,
Rejoice, that thou has Freed the Slave!
Morpeth.