The Mother, by Ann Gilbert (née Taylor)
Mother, a happy home hast thou,
In some green valley's shade?
Blest by the dear domestic vow
At yonder altar paid? --
Secure, as if by right divine,
That home of love thou callest thine!
And dost thou there thy baby's cheek
Regard with fondest gaze?
Does that dear boy, with merry freak,
Delight thee, as he plays? --
And she, thine elder one, -- for her,
Doth no sweet thought of blessing stir? --
-- Nay, love them not! -- for thine no more,
This tender group shall be! --
I've bought them! -- Watch, from yonder shore,
That vessel out at sea; --
I've bought thy children, -- o'er the waves
They go, to join my gang of slaves!
I saw that gentle girl of thine
With anguish in her soul;
I marked the drops of burning brine
That down her cheeks did roll;
I heard her for her mother cry; --
Yet, had I not a right to buy?
Perchance, in some far field, away,
The lash may teach her toil;
While tears of anguish, day by day,
Shall slake the fervid soil;
But thou, -- her mother, -- ne'er shalt know,
Where sheds thy child those tears of woe!
Mothers, -- the fair, the firm, the free,
Of England's vaunted isle,
Tell me if griefs like this shall be,
And you be still the while!
No! -- strong in woman virtue rise!
And heed the negro mother's cries!
With plighted hands, a living chain,
Unsevered, but to die, --
Crusaders, sally forth again
To heed that thrilling cry! --
A broken heart your ensign be,
Your watchword Love and Liberty!
Ann Gilbert.
Nottingham.