This site requires Javascript to be turned on. Please enable Javascript and reload the page.

Mary Anne Rawson's The Bow in the Cloud (1834): A Scholarly Edition

Townley, Dinah Ball

Born: 1776

Died: 1859

Faith: Methodist

Note: Dinah Townley (née Ball) was Mary Anne Rawson's governess and a published poet. She had previously been a teacher at a private school in west London, where she had received 16-year old Mary-Anne in 1817, and arrived at Wincobank following a rather dramatic recalling of the wilful elder daughter a few months later. She was also connected to James Montgomery, who in the early 1820s published her pamphlet Missionary Society: A Dialogue, which Rawson read (Twells 2009, pp. 93–95). She married the Wesleyan Methodist minister James Townley in 1829.

This page is referenced by:

Granville Sharp, by Dinah Townley

(a fragment.)

-------
It was the habit of this christian scholar, to the last, to sing the Psalms of David, in Hebrew, to his harp, every night before he retired to rest, at his pleasant retreat at Fulham.
-------

-- The flag was streaming, and the vessel bore
Peals of warm blessing from the ringing shore,
And tears of higher feeling brought to view,
When Freedom's charter o'er the billows flew.

Saw you the hands with eager transport wave,
That first unloosed the shackles from the slave?
Heard you the praises, ardent and sublime,
Poured from that soul that braves the chills of time?
And would you follow where, apart from sight,
That rapture moderates to calm delight?
Let each intruding thought be awed to rest;
Let sacred stillness consecrate your breast;
Kneel, till bright convoy bands their waiting cease,
And "mark the Righteous -- for his end is peace."

To grottoes where the moon's calm hallowed ray
Falls with pure glory on his locks of grey,
Turns the Philanthropist. Upon that head
The spoils of eighty winters have been shed.
His peace, like infant slumber, wears a smile: --
'Tis answered prayer, from Caribbean isle,
Conveyed o'er ocean-floods; where broken chains
The emancipated negro still retains;
Inscribes upon them his deliverer's fame,
And calls his free-born offspring by his name.

From hurried scenes the failing saint retires;
Spends his last fervours on his silver wires,
In psalms of praise; -- for David's harp he owns,
And David's language swells his vocal tones: --
He bends, and strikes the bold, decided note;
His words are clear, but tremble as they float;
"To see thy glory have I longed, O Lord!"
His fingers languish on the yielding chord:
His notes fall weaker, as they seek the skies;
He bows upon the moaning harp, and dies.

D. T.
Pierre Sallah, by Dinah Townley

It was at one of those bountiful, social, and exhilarating breakfasts, for which the city of Dublin is justly renowned, when the pious and the benevolent are convened for accelerating their great objects, that a Secretary of one of the Missionary Societies attracted the attention of the whole assembly, by relating a circumstance contained in letters which he had just received from Western Africa.

A Negro-slave, on the River Gambia, the property of a French lady of the Roman Catholic Church, had been brought to experience deep and serious religion, under the preaching of a missionary. It soon appeared that the Great Head of the Church had raised up this sable disciple to be an instrument in His hand to accomplish the purposes of His mercy. Powerfully feeling his debt of gratitude to his Redeemer, and commiserating the lost condition of his afflicted brethren of the Jaloff tribe, the pious African began earnestly to exhort them, in their own language, to turn from their sins and seek in Christ Jesus that true freedom which had broken his spiritual bonds, and brought into his soul an inward heaven. His labours were crowned with great success; many of the slaves on the same plantation with himself became christian converts, and consequently, more valuable servants. This their mistress had the candour to allow; and being informed of the instrumentality of Pierre Sallah, her own negro, in the salutary change that had taken place among the slaves of her estate, she allowed him, at his earnest request, to visit the neighbouring plantations, and preach, within a more enlarged sphere, "the unsearchable riches of Christ." The wretched slaves, on all sides, heard of a Heavenly Benefactor, who looked on their misery with an eye of compassion, and said, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and ye shall find rest unto your souls."

The progress of his usefulness was noted by his observant mistress, and, though she did not forsake the bosom of her own church, she had too much respect for the religion inculcated by her slave, to restrain his labours; and, on being questioned as to her willingness to accept a ransom for him, she said, her esteem for Pierre Sallah was very great, and that his faithfulness and his industry might lead her to demand a considerable sum for his manumission; but that, impressed as she was with a sense of duty in allowing him to continue in his useful office of religious instructor, she would accept of the mitigated sum of fifty pounds for his liberty.

Every one present thought, "Surely fifty pounds might soon be raised for the accomplishment of so great an object!"

The breakfast was over, and the gentlemen dispersed. The wife of one of the Missionary Secretaries thought it might be worth while to attempt a commencement of the ransom, by an appeal to the benevolence of the ladies who remained in the apartment, and in such a way as to secure a trifling contribution from all. She, therefore, put a sixpence into a saucer, and requested the same sum from each: thus, the first sovereign was raised. In the evening, at a public missionary meeting, Pierre Sallah's story was told, and the sovereign held up as the first-fruits of the ransom, while a warm address was made to the hearts of all present. Nothing more was necessary in a city where all that moves the soul is flame from the altar in a righteous cause. A voice from one side of the platform said -- "I subscribe five pounds." Another said, "Put me down three." "No," said the zealous pleader,

"It is money in hand that I hold, and that is better than promises." The five pounds, and the three, were immediately passed to the table. This brought notes, gold, and silver, from the gallery in a shower, amidst the acclamations of the assembly; and when the long-continued inundation ceased, and the money was counted in breathless silence, a voice of transport exclaimed -- "Pierre Sallah is free!" Every heart bounded with joy, the luxury of benevolence thrilled every bosom and gleamed in every eye, while the roof echoed long and energetic applause. A voice from below cried, "Pierre Sallah shall be an Irishman!" -- and assent was clapped with laughter.

This happened in August, 1830; and in August, 1833, the Secretary's wife, who collected the first sovereign at Dublin, received a box of shells, and other curiosities, from the River Gambia, containing the calabash used by Pierre Sallah when a slave, neatly carved, engraved with his initials, and inscribed to Mrs. ----, "with a thousand thanks for her exertion in his behalf."

What English bosom will refuse sympathy with the glowing heart thus rewarded for a trifling service! And who will not appreciate the delicacy of the grateful boon, conveyed with blessings from the hand of the liberated slave, now the free and accredited minister of Christ!

D. Townley.
Hope, by Dinah Ball
Written after first hearing of the formation of Ladies' Anti-Slavery Associations.
Slavery! silent hopeless anguish--
British souls have felt thy care:
Yet their firmest efforts languish
Into all the slave's despair.
Is there hope?--The thought were glory,
Piercing through a darksome cave:
Statesmen, poets, tell thy story,
Yet is found no hand to save.
Is there hope? Yes, if exerted,
One untried, resistless power,
Modest, quiet, unasserted,
Patient through the darkest hour.
Sisters:--ye whose tears have glistened
At the tale of Afric's woe;
Let the sympathy that listened
All its energy bestow.
Gentle hands by thousands aiding,
Eloquence, though soft as lutes,
By ten thousand lips persuading,
Can secure your high pursuits.
Shall a gust of blessings reach us,
Poured from grateful negro-tongues,
While their generous virtues teach us
Negroes can forget their wrongs?
Yes, the western breeze shall bear it-
Yes, the triumph shall be true!
Sister-Britons, ye shall share it,--
Heaven reserves the bliss for you!
D. Ball
Poem: 'Toussaint Louverture', by Dinah Ball (English MS 414/37)

Cast a reflective glance athwart the flood
To that bold Isle where prowess and renown
Have urged their course through deluges of blood,
And snapped the Tyrant's yoke, and scorned his frown.

When Europe's unrelenting hand had swayed,
With scorpion rod, Domingo's land of slaves,
And Negro-vengeance had her deeds repaid
By massacres that died the circling waves,

Benignant Heaven, in mercy to the oppressed,
Nurtured a Hero of the jitty race,
This mighty soul with ample views possessed,
And stamped with moral dignity his face.

'Midst anarchy and war, with calm survey,
He traced a path to greatness and repose;
Laid[?] his deep counsels for a future day,
And watched the crisis of this Brethren's woes:

Then, as when a fierce Tornado's core of death
Has threatened every hope[?], in darkness driven,
And beaming beauty comes on morning breath,
The mild, assuaging Messenger of Heaven,

So dawning on despair, his plans desplayed
Sublimist views of morals, laws, defence;
While opposition vanished into shade,
And left him single in a scheme immense.

He seemed the Evagoras of modern fame:--
With Cyprian Capitol, renowned for bliss,
Had Cape Francois compared its envied name,
And stood the world's delight, as Salamis!

In virtue's eye beamed this prophetic ray!
It was too pure a soul that triumphed there,
For answering[?] beams across the flood to stray;
No Gallic policy such views could share.

New subjugation and the lash of pain
Vowed envious France: but, only art refined
Might hope concurrence in Toussaint to gain,
So firm, so true, so politic his mind.

He owned a Father's love, a father's care:--
Two sons, the growing objects of delight,
To Gallia's court had borne his ardent prayer
For literary, and for sacred light.

Eight years of absence hasten to their close,
Where, as they deem, a fleet to guard their coast,
Bears those to share their valiant Sire's repose,
Their mother's tenderness, their country's boast.

With flags of amity the Barks drew near:
At Port Dauphin is heard the friendly hail:
Yet ranged in sight embattled ranks appear,
And slaughtering blades the peaceful crowds assail!

Near Cape Francois the mooring transports lay
Troop lands on Troop, while Gallic thunders roar;
The strand is ? in a dread effray[?]
And rising flames within defend the shore.

The unsuspecting Chief, in toils of peace,
Is distant far; while, 'midst encroaching fire,
Coisnon obtains a passport and release,
To bear the anxious youths to greet their Sire.

They join:-- Let feeling's language paint the bliss,
(If bliss so pure can earthly phrase approve,)
The joy-- [?] tear[?], the soul pressed[?] kiss,
The speechless sympathies of meeting love.

Soon to their guide the grateful Chief draws near:--
"Preceptor of my sons, revered, beloved"--
With arms outstretched to embrace, & starting tear[?]
Toussaint exclaims:-- Coisnon draws back unmoved:--

And rises[?] abruptly, and with haughty air,
He speaks:-- "Armed with the Consul's[?] power,"
"At Cape Francois, demands the august Le Clerc
"Your prompt submission, and your army's flower

"These yielded, he bestows the Consul's praise
"Wealth, honor, office, or a calm retreat,
"All that a Nation's gratitude conveys,
All that ambition's highest views meet.

Refusal ventured, he defies the place,
And vows revenge implacable and deep,
Extermination of your name, and race,
And ruin that shall leave no eye to weep.

Those darling objects you so closely fold[?]
Must be resigned:-- I lead those to Le Clerc:--
A passport all conditional I hold;
That passport's faith betrayed you will not spare[?]."

Their mother's ardent eye, their whispered love,
Affection's dark and realising fears
The Hero's bosom and his features move,
And hold a moment's triumph in his tears.

Now, as from dream aroused, his piercing views,
Beneath the alluring snare, perceives the chain;
Valour and duty urge him to subdue,
To fall a Martyr, or a Prince to reign.

Coisnon he calls. "Bear then my sons from sight"--
(His front announces Deity within!)
True to my God, and to my Brethren's right,
I dare to suffer, but I scorn to sin."

The ? is awful. Grief's load[?] burst[?] succeeds:--
The mother clasps her sons in wild despair:--
Through weeping crowds Coisnon his victims lead:--
With hands upraised, the Father kneels in prayer.

And walk they forth defenseless[?] to their foes--
Lambs torn from shelter for the sacrifice?
Or round their guiltless heads do pinions chase
That, spreading soon, shall hear them to the skies?

Rowed from the shore, they traverse for the deep;
Till evening shades, the signals of the doom,
Find them embracing in their last, long sleep,
Beneath the engulphing billow, now their Tomb.

Great, though distressed, Toussaint's intrepid soul
Rallies men its energy sublime:
But, how shall truth and valour hold control
Betrayed by perfidy, and matched with crime?

More vile, more treacherous than death concealed
In reptile fang, the baseness of his foes
Intrudes, in silence, where his sorrows yield
To virtue's ready balm, serene repose:

A consecrated spot;-- for there he knelt
Each morn and eve, with his whose kindred mind
Had learned with his to trust, or ? melt
In grateful praise, as each want inclined.

Surprised with shackles in the midnight gloom,
To a far distant shore in secret borne,
From purjured tongues, he listens to his doom,
Tongues that fidelity and peace had sworn.

And has the Avenger heard the Hero's plaint
From Gallic Dungeon, watery, dark, and deep?
Yes--Heaven has burst upon the imprisoned Saint!
Yes--France on fields of blood has learned to weep!

When the dark story blots the record's page,
The sons of Gaul will blush his face to claim:
Toussaint's renown shall reach the latest age,
And marbles bear his venerated name.

Dinah Ball.

This page references:

Methodist