Song, by Agnes Bulmer
the negro is free!
Hark! a voice from the islands, a voice from the seas,
Rolls hoarse o'er the waters, floats light on the breeze;
It gladdens the morn in her mantle of light,
And steals soft on the silence of star-spangled night.
O list! 'tis the wide-wafted echo of songs
Uprising from regions, where Africa's wrongs
Till now have repressed the sweet music of joy,
Where the watch-word of Guilt was "Debase, and destroy."
O list! 'tis the trumpet of Justice; -- the voice
Of Humanity swells the grand chorus, "Rejoice!"
Rejoice! for Oppression's galled victim is free!
Re-echo his gladness, ye isles of the sea!
'Tis thy jubilee, Africa! long, long delayed,
For thy year of release thou hast patiently stayed:
Yet fell not thy tears, with thy blood, on the soil,
Unpitied by Him who regarded thy toil.
He spake, and the voices of Albion arose,
Like the rush of wild waves, that tumultuously close
Round the throne of her pride, 'midst the crags of the deep,
Where her trident gleams bright, and her broad banners sweep.
Hark! multitudes -- multitudes utter the cry,
The mountains receive it, the vallies reply,
"From the white cliffs of Albion be cleansed the dark stain
"Of the blood of the negro, -- be broken his chain!"
'Tis done! the stern lion hath loosed from his hold,
The victim he mangled; -- nor rapine, nor gold,
Though cruel as murder, though fell as despair,
Shall drag him again to his crimson-dyed lair.
O Albion! the happy, the favoured, the free,
Be light in thy dwellings, thou gem of the sea;
O fadeless and fair be the wreath on thy brow,
Be Africa's favoured, as happy as thou!
Her children have laboured, have suffered for thee,
Now, ruthless no longer, thou bidst her be free;
O wipe the sad tear-drops with lenient hand,
And be kind to instruct, who wast stern to command!
So the Isles of the Ocean thy banners shall bless,
The prayer of the stranger shall bring thee success;
And thy shield of defence, and the sword of thy might,
Shall be girded by Freedom, and wielded by Right.
Agnes Bulmer.