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IntroductionThe Published AnthologyContains all of the pieces published in the anthology, with an editor's noteSelected Unpublished PiecesTranscriptions of some unpublished pieces sent to RawsonText analysisResults of analysing the anthology and its manuscriptsNetwork AnalysisNetwork analysis prototypes, including a network graph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.
Unpublished illustration accompanying 'The Mother'
12023-08-14T18:08:24+00:00Christopher Ohge67a4fbaba4797c94aa865988788fca89b5c3761613plain2023-08-14T18:09:43+00:00Christopher Ohge67a4fbaba4797c94aa865988788fca89b5c37616Ann Gilbert supplied her own illustration for the poem which Rawson did not end up publishing.
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12023-08-14T17:42:50+00:00The Mother, by Ann Gilbert (née Taylor)13A poem by Ann Gilbertplain2024-09-13T15:53:09+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.
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12023-08-01T11:13:02+00:00Three slaves on the shore1Illustration accompanying Anne Gilbert's poem 'The Mother'plain2023-08-01T11:13:02+00:00Watercolour (paint); Ink
Painting by Ann Taylor of two adult slaves and a child(?) with bottom half of their bodies covered in cloth; in kneeling position at the edge of the shore, pleading towards a ship in the sea on the horizon. A handwritten verse reads : 'I've bought them, - watch from yonder shore 'That vessel out at sea! 'I've bought thy children, - over the waves 'They go, to join my gang of slaves!'