Section 3
Songs
"It is asserted, on the authority of an American Newspaper, that the daughter of Thomas Jefferson, late President of the United States, was sold at New Orleans for $1,000."—Morning Chronicle.
Can the blood that, at Lexington, poured o'er the plain,
When the sons warred with tyrants their rights to uphold,
Can the tide of Niagara wipe out the stain?
No! Jefferson's child has been bartered for gold!
Do you boast of your freedom? Peace, babblers—be still;
Prate not of the goddess who scarce deigns to hear;
Have ye power to unbind? Are ye wanting in will?
Must the groans of your bondman still torture the ear?
The daughter of Jefferson sold for a slave!
The child of a freeman for dollars and francs!
The roar of applause, when your orators rave,
Is lost in the sound of her chain, as it clanks.
Peace, then, ye blasphemers of Liberty's name!
Though red was the blood by your forefathers spilt,
Still redder your cheeks should be mantled with shame,
Till the spirit of freedom shall cancel the guilt.
But the brand of the slave is the tint of his skin,
Though his heart may beat loyal and true underneath;
While the soul of the tyrant is rotten within,
And his white the mere cloak to the blackness of death.
Are ye deaf to the plaints that each moment arise?
Is it thus ye forget the mild precepts of Penn,--
Unheeding the clamor that "maddens the skies,"
As ye trample the rights of your dark fellow-men?
When the incense that glows before Liberty's shrine,
Is unmixed with the blood of the galled and oppressed,
O, then, and then only, the boast may be thine,
That the stripes and stars wave o'er a land of the blest.
Can the blood that, at Lexington, poured o'er the plain,
When the sons warred with tyrants their rights to uphold,
Can the tide of Niagara wipe out the stain?
No! Jefferson's child has been bartered for gold!
Do you boast of your freedom? Peace, babblers—be still;
Prate not of the goddess who scarce deigns to hear;
Have ye power to unbind? Are ye wanting in will?
Must the groans of your bondman still torture the ear?
The daughter of Jefferson sold for a slave!
The child of a freeman for dollars and francs!
The roar of applause, when your orators rave,
Is lost in the sound of her chain, as it clanks.
Peace, then, ye blasphemers of Liberty's name!
Though red was the blood by your forefathers spilt,
Still redder your cheeks should be mantled with shame,
Till the spirit of freedom shall cancel the guilt.
But the brand of the slave is the tint of his skin,
Though his heart may beat loyal and true underneath;
While the soul of the tyrant is rotten within,
And his white the mere cloak to the blackness of death.
Are ye deaf to the plaints that each moment arise?
Is it thus ye forget the mild precepts of Penn,--
Unheeding the clamor that "maddens the skies,"
As ye trample the rights of your dark fellow-men?
When the incense that glows before Liberty's shrine,
Is unmixed with the blood of the galled and oppressed,
O, then, and then only, the boast may be thine,
That the stripes and stars wave o'er a land of the blest.
Why stands she near the auction stand,
That girl so young and fair;
What brings her to this dismal place,
Why stands she weeping there?
Why does she raise that bitter cry?
Why hangs her head with shame,
As now the auctioneer's rough voice,
So rudely calls her name?
But see! she grasps a manly hand,
And in a voice so low,
As scarcely to be heard, she says,
'My brother, must I go?'
A moment's pause: then midst a wail
Of agonizing woe,
His answer falls upon the ear,
'Yes, sister, you must go!'
'No longer can my arm defend,
No longer can I save
My sister from the horrid fate
That waits her as a SLAVE!'
Ah! now I know why she is there,
She came there to be sold!
That lovely form, that noble mind,
Must be exchanged for gold!
O God! my every heart-string cries,
Dost thou these scenes behold
In this our boasted Christian land,
And must the truth be told?
Blush, Christian, blush! for e'en the dark
Untutored heathen see
Thy inconsistency, and lo!
They scorn thy God, and thee!
That girl so young and fair;
What brings her to this dismal place,
Why stands she weeping there?
Why does she raise that bitter cry?
Why hangs her head with shame,
As now the auctioneer's rough voice,
So rudely calls her name?
But see! she grasps a manly hand,
And in a voice so low,
As scarcely to be heard, she says,
'My brother, must I go?'
A moment's pause: then midst a wail
Of agonizing woe,
His answer falls upon the ear,
'Yes, sister, you must go!'
'No longer can my arm defend,
No longer can I save
My sister from the horrid fate
That waits her as a SLAVE!'
Ah! now I know why she is there,
She came there to be sold!
That lovely form, that noble mind,
Must be exchanged for gold!
O God! my every heart-string cries,
Dost thou these scenes behold
In this our boasted Christian land,
And must the truth be told?
Blush, Christian, blush! for e'en the dark
Untutored heathen see
Thy inconsistency, and lo!
They scorn thy God, and thee!
Air—Dan Tucker.
Ho! the car Emancipation
Rides majestic thro' our nation,
Bearing on its train the story,
Liberty! a nation's glory.
Roll it along, thro' the nation,
Freedom's car, Emancipation!
First of all the train, and greater,
Speeds the dauntless Liberator,
Onward cheered amid hosannas,
And the waving of free banners.
Roll it along! spread your banners,
While the people shout hosannas.
Men of various predilections,
Frightened, run in all directions;
Merchants, editors, physicians,
Lawyers, priests, and politicians.
Get out of the way! every station!
Clear the track of 'mancipation!
Let the ministers and churches
Leave behind sectarian lurches;
Jump on board the car of Freedom,
Ere it be too late to need them.
Sound the alarm! Pulpits thunder!
Ere too late you see your blunder!
Politicians gazed, astounded,
When, at first, our bell resounded;
Freight trains are coming, tell these foxes,
With our votes and ballot boxes.
Jump for your lives! politicians,
From your dangerous, false positions.
All true friends of Emancipation,
Haste to Freedom's railroad station;
Quick into the cars get seated,
All is ready and completed.
Put on the steam! all are crying,
And the liberty flags are flying.
Now again the bell is tolling,
Soon you'll see the car-wheels rolling;
Hinder not their destination,
Chartered for Emancipation.
Wood up the fire! keep it flashing,
While the train goes onward dashing.
Hear the mighty car-wheels humming!
Now look out! the Engine's coming!
Church and statesmen! hear the thunder!
Clear the track or you'll fall under.
Get off the track! all are singing,
While the Liberty bell is ringing.
On, triumphant see them bearing,
Through sectarian rubbish tearing;
The bell and whistle and the steaming,
Startle thousands from their dreaming.
Look out for the cars while the bell rings!
Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.
See the people run to meet us;
At the depots thousands greet us;
All take seats with exultation,
In the Car Emancipation.
Huzza! Huzza!! Emancipation
Soon will bless our happy nation,
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!!!
Ho! the car Emancipation
Rides majestic thro' our nation,
Bearing on its train the story,
Liberty! a nation's glory.
Roll it along, thro' the nation,
Freedom's car, Emancipation!
First of all the train, and greater,
Speeds the dauntless Liberator,
Onward cheered amid hosannas,
And the waving of free banners.
Roll it along! spread your banners,
While the people shout hosannas.
Men of various predilections,
Frightened, run in all directions;
Merchants, editors, physicians,
Lawyers, priests, and politicians.
Get out of the way! every station!
Clear the track of 'mancipation!
Let the ministers and churches
Leave behind sectarian lurches;
Jump on board the car of Freedom,
Ere it be too late to need them.
Sound the alarm! Pulpits thunder!
Ere too late you see your blunder!
Politicians gazed, astounded,
When, at first, our bell resounded;
Freight trains are coming, tell these foxes,
With our votes and ballot boxes.
Jump for your lives! politicians,
From your dangerous, false positions.
All true friends of Emancipation,
Haste to Freedom's railroad station;
Quick into the cars get seated,
All is ready and completed.
Put on the steam! all are crying,
And the liberty flags are flying.
Now again the bell is tolling,
Soon you'll see the car-wheels rolling;
Hinder not their destination,
Chartered for Emancipation.
Wood up the fire! keep it flashing,
While the train goes onward dashing.
Hear the mighty car-wheels humming!
Now look out! the Engine's coming!
Church and statesmen! hear the thunder!
Clear the track or you'll fall under.
Get off the track! all are singing,
While the Liberty bell is ringing.
On, triumphant see them bearing,
Through sectarian rubbish tearing;
The bell and whistle and the steaming,
Startle thousands from their dreaming.
Look out for the cars while the bell rings!
Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.
See the people run to meet us;
At the depots thousands greet us;
All take seats with exultation,
In the Car Emancipation.
Huzza! Huzza!! Emancipation
Soon will bless our happy nation,
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!!!
The storm-winds wildly blowing,
The bursting billows mock,
As with their foam-crests glowing,
They dash the sea-girt rock;
Amid the wild commotion,
The revel of the sea,
A voice is on the ocean,
Be free, O man, be free.
Behold the sea-brine leaping
High in the murky air;
List to the tempest sweeping
In chainless fury there.
What moves the mighty torrent,
And bids it flow abroad?
Or turns the rapid current?
What, but the voice of God?
Then, answer, is the spirit
Less noble or less free?
From whom does it inherit
The doom of slavery?
When man can bind the waters,
That they no longer roll,
Then let him forge the fetters
To clog the human soul.
Till then a voice is stealing
From earth and sea and sky,
And to the soul revealing
Its immortality.
The swift wind chants the numbers
Careering o'er the sea,
And earth, aroused from slumbers,
Re-echoes, "Man, be free."
The bursting billows mock,
As with their foam-crests glowing,
They dash the sea-girt rock;
Amid the wild commotion,
The revel of the sea,
A voice is on the ocean,
Be free, O man, be free.
Behold the sea-brine leaping
High in the murky air;
List to the tempest sweeping
In chainless fury there.
What moves the mighty torrent,
And bids it flow abroad?
Or turns the rapid current?
What, but the voice of God?
Then, answer, is the spirit
Less noble or less free?
From whom does it inherit
The doom of slavery?
When man can bind the waters,
That they no longer roll,
Then let him forge the fetters
To clog the human soul.
Till then a voice is stealing
From earth and sea and sky,
And to the soul revealing
Its immortality.
The swift wind chants the numbers
Careering o'er the sea,
And earth, aroused from slumbers,
Re-echoes, "Man, be free."
The fetters galled my weary soul--
A soul that seemed but thrown away;
I spurned the tyrant's base control,
Resolved at last the man to play:--
The hounds are baying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?
I felt the stripes, the lash I saw,
Red, dripping with a father's gore;
And worst of all their lawless law,
The insults that my mother bore!
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
Where human law o'errules Divine,
Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell
My wife and babes,—I call them mine,--
And where they suffer, who can tell?
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
I seek a home where man is man,
If such there be upon this earth,
To draw my kindred, if I can,
Around its free, though humble hearth.
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
A soul that seemed but thrown away;
I spurned the tyrant's base control,
Resolved at last the man to play:--
The hounds are baying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?
I felt the stripes, the lash I saw,
Red, dripping with a father's gore;
And worst of all their lawless law,
The insults that my mother bore!
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
Where human law o'errules Divine,
Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell
My wife and babes,—I call them mine,--
And where they suffer, who can tell?
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
I seek a home where man is man,
If such there be upon this earth,
To draw my kindred, if I can,
Around its free, though humble hearth.
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
AIR—The Troubadour.
This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.
Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
Listen awhile to the story we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.
Praying for liberty, dearer than life,
Torn from his little one, torn from his wife,
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.
Think of his agony, feel for his pain,
Should his hard master e'er hold him again;
Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave,
Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.
Freely the slave master goes where he will;
Freemen, stand ready, his wishes to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave,
Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead;
See the slave master's whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.
Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late;
Slavery is knocking, at every gate,
Make good the promise, your early days gave,
Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.
This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.
Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
Listen awhile to the story we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.
Praying for liberty, dearer than life,
Torn from his little one, torn from his wife,
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.
Think of his agony, feel for his pain,
Should his hard master e'er hold him again;
Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave,
Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.
Freely the slave master goes where he will;
Freemen, stand ready, his wishes to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave,
Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead;
See the slave master's whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.
Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late;
Slavery is knocking, at every gate,
Make good the promise, your early days gave,
Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.
Star of the North! Thou art not bigger
Than is the diamond in my ring;
Yet, every black, star-gazing nigger
Looks at thee, as at some great thing!
Yes, gazes at thee, till the lazy
And thankless rascal is half crazy.
Some Abolitionist has told them,
That, if they take their flight toward thee,
They'll get where "massa" cannot hold them,
And therefore to the North they flee.
Fools to be led off, where they can't earn
Their living, by thy lying lantern.
We will to New England write,
And tell them not to let thee shine
(Excepting of a cloudy night)
Anywhere south of Dixon's line;
If beyond that thou shine an inch,
We'll have thee up before Judge Lynch.
And when, thou Abolition star,
Who preachest Freedom in all weathers,
Thou hast got on thy coat of tar,
And over that, a cloak of feathers,
Thou art "fixed" none will deny,
If there's a fixed star in the sky.
Than is the diamond in my ring;
Yet, every black, star-gazing nigger
Looks at thee, as at some great thing!
Yes, gazes at thee, till the lazy
And thankless rascal is half crazy.
Some Abolitionist has told them,
That, if they take their flight toward thee,
They'll get where "massa" cannot hold them,
And therefore to the North they flee.
Fools to be led off, where they can't earn
Their living, by thy lying lantern.
We will to New England write,
And tell them not to let thee shine
(Excepting of a cloudy night)
Anywhere south of Dixon's line;
If beyond that thou shine an inch,
We'll have thee up before Judge Lynch.
And when, thou Abolition star,
Who preachest Freedom in all weathers,
Thou hast got on thy coat of tar,
And over that, a cloak of feathers,
Thou art "fixed" none will deny,
If there's a fixed star in the sky.
This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs, when parting from friends for the far off South—children taken from parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.
See these poor souls from Africa,
Transported to America:
We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?
We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.
See wives and husbands sold apart,
The children's screams!—it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
O, gracious Lord? when shall it be,
That we poor souls shall all be free?
Lord, break them Slavery powers—will you go along with me?
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.
Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
See these poor souls from Africa,
Transported to America:
We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?
We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.
See wives and husbands sold apart,
The children's screams!—it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
O, gracious Lord? when shall it be,
That we poor souls shall all be free?
Lord, break them Slavery powers—will you go along with me?
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.
Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
O, my country, my country!
How long I for thee,
Far over the mountain,
Far over the sea.
Where the sweet Joliba,
Kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander
By thee never more?
Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more.
Say, O fond Zurima,
Where dost thou stay?
Say, doth another
List to thy sweet lay?
Say, doth the orange still
Bloom near our cot?
Zurima, Zurima,
Am I forgot?
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Under the baobab
Oft have I slept,
Fanned by sweet breezes
That over me swept.
Often in dreams
Do my weary limbs lay
'Neath the same baobab,
Far, far away.
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
O, for the breath
Of our own waving palm,
Here, as I languish,
My spirit to calm--
O, for a draught
From our own cooling lake,
Brought by sweet mother,
My spirit to wake.
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
How long I for thee,
Far over the mountain,
Far over the sea.
Where the sweet Joliba,
Kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander
By thee never more?
Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more.
Say, O fond Zurima,
Where dost thou stay?
Say, doth another
List to thy sweet lay?
Say, doth the orange still
Bloom near our cot?
Zurima, Zurima,
Am I forgot?
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Under the baobab
Oft have I slept,
Fanned by sweet breezes
That over me swept.
Often in dreams
Do my weary limbs lay
'Neath the same baobab,
Far, far away.
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
O, for the breath
Of our own waving palm,
Here, as I languish,
My spirit to calm--
O, for a draught
From our own cooling lake,
Brought by sweet mother,
My spirit to wake.
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Ye heralds of freedom, ye noble and brave,
Who dare to insist on the rights of the slave,
Go onward, go onward, your cause is of God,
And he will soon sever the oppressor's strong rod.
The finger of slander may now at you point,
That finger will soon lose the strength of its joint;
And those who now plead for the rights of the slave,
Will soon be acknowledged the good and the brave.
Though thrones and dominions, and kingdoms and powers,
May now all oppose you, the victory is yours;
The banner of Jesus will soon be unfurled,
And he will give freedom and peace to the world.
Go under his standard and fight by his side,
O'er mountains and billows you'll then safely ride;
His gracious protection will be to you given,
And bright crowns of glory he'll give you in heaven.
Who dare to insist on the rights of the slave,
Go onward, go onward, your cause is of God,
And he will soon sever the oppressor's strong rod.
The finger of slander may now at you point,
That finger will soon lose the strength of its joint;
And those who now plead for the rights of the slave,
Will soon be acknowledged the good and the brave.
Though thrones and dominions, and kingdoms and powers,
May now all oppose you, the victory is yours;
The banner of Jesus will soon be unfurled,
And he will give freedom and peace to the world.
Go under his standard and fight by his side,
O'er mountains and billows you'll then safely ride;
His gracious protection will be to you given,
And bright crowns of glory he'll give you in heaven.
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