Mary Anne Rawson's The Bow in the Cloud (1834): A Scholarly EditionMain MenuEditor's IntroductionEditor's IntroductionThe Published AnthologyContains all of the pieces published in the anthology, with an editor's noteSelected Unpublished PiecesTranscriptions of some unpublished pieces sent to RawsonText analysisResults of analysing the anthology and its manuscriptsNetwork AnalysisNetwork analysis prototypes, including a network graph of connections in the archiveMap of PlacenamesA map of all places associated with pieces in the anthologyPeople MentionedBow in the Cloud: PersonographyFurther ReadingsA Bibliography of sources relating to this projectThis project was supported by an NEH-Mellon Fellowship for Digital Publication in 2023/2024 (FEL-289788). Find project data on GitHub.
Revision narrative: 'glowing Song'
12023-10-12T23:42:27+00:00Christopher Ohge67a4fbaba4797c94aa865988788fca89b5c3761611plain2023-10-12T23:42:27+00:00Christopher Ohge67a4fbaba4797c94aa865988788fca89b5c37616The printed version reads 'glowing Song' but Lord Morpeth followed up by bemoaning the misprint of what should have been 'glorious song'.
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12023-10-12T23:04:49+00:00Ode on the Abolition of Slavery, by Lord Morpeth8Poem by Lord Morpethplain2024-09-14T16:41:37+00:00 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!