Poetry: An Appeal To Freemen

List fond parent, while caressing The loved infant on your knee, Fondly to thy bosom pressing Thy sweet babe, by birthright free. List, oh! list, to that deep wailing. As it vibrates through the air; 'Tis a mother's voice entreating, In the accents of despair. "Spare - oh! spare my infant longer Master, let - oh! let it stay, Till it older is, and stronger Take - oh! take it not away" But alas, that heartfelt pleading, Strikes a breast unmoved and cold; Though her heart is bursting - bleeding - See - her infant boy is sold. Hark - again - that deep lamenting, Surely yet she will prevail, Is not that cold heart relenting? Oh! that lash -that shriek - that wail! 'Tis again - again repeated - Stripes must her transgression heal; As a mother she entreated, As a mother dared to feel. Yes, it is the truth I'm telling, May this truth each heart alarm; Masters even now are selling, Infants from their mother's arms. Brother is from brother parted, Sister too from sister torn; Husband - father, broken-hearted. Far from wife and children borne. Parent, rouse thee from thy slumber, (By the griefs the heart would know Wore thy infant of that number, Doomed from thy embrace to go.) Let thy voice be heard defending, Afric's crushed, insulted race, Justice with compassion blending, Plead - oh! plead for their release. See! Columbia's soil is reeking, With oppression's blood and tears; In a voice of thunder speaking, Of the guilt of many years. Long have Afric's sons been groaning, 'Neath, the scourge, the lash - the chain, Freemen, freedom's censure scorning, Triumph in a brother's pain. Wake, oh! wake; thou slumbering nation, See thy guilt - their suff'rings see, Bring to Afric's sons salvation, "Bid the ransomed slave go free." Let no more his bosom bleeding, With his long protracted grief, Send to thee, the voice of pleading, Ere thou grant the wished relief.