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• 1 2023-08-14T17:42:50+00:00 The Mother, by Ann Gilbert 7 A poem by Ann Gilbert plain 2023-08-14T17:55:04+00:00 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.
• 1 2023-08-14T18:08:24+00:00 Unpublished illustration accompanying 'The Mother' 3 plain 2023-08-14T18:09:43+00:00 Ann Gilbert supplied her own illustration for the poem which Rawson did not end up publishing.