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The American Female Slave.

LXXXVII.

ELIZABETH M. CHANDLER.

DAUGHTERS of the Pilgrim Sires,
Dwellers by their mould'ring graves,
Watchers of their altar fires,

Look upon your country's slaves!

Lament of the Free Africans for Mungo Park.

P. M. JAMES.

Where the wild Joliba

Rolls its deep waters,
Sat at their evening toil
Afric's dark daughters,
Where thick the mangroves

Broad shadows are flinging,

Each o'er her lone loom,

Bent mournfully singing:

Alas for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,-
No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger.

Through the deep forest

Fierce lions are prowling ;

Mid thickets entangling,

Hyenas are howling ;

The American Female Slave. Look! 't is woman's streaming eye, These are woman's fettered hands, That to you, so mournfully,

Lift sad glance, and iron bands.

Scars are on her fettered limbs,
Where the savage scourge hath been;
But the grief her eye that dims,
Flows for deeper wounds within.

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There should he wander,
Where danger lurks ever,

To his home, where the sun sets,

Return shall be never :

Alas for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,

No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger.

The hands of the Moor,

In his wrath do they bind him?
Oh, sealed is his doom

If the Savage Moor find him!
More fierce than hyenas,

Through darkness advancing,
Is the course of the Moor,

And his eyes' fiery glancing:

Alas for the white man o'er deserts a ranger,

No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger.

He launched his light bark,

Our fond warnings despising,
And sailed for the land,

Where the day-beams are rising.

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The American Female Slave.

For the children of her love,
For the brothers of her race,
Sisters, like vine-branches wove,
In one early dwelling place—

For the parent forms that hung
Fondly o'er her infant sleep,
And for him to whom she clung,
With affection true and deep-

By her sad forsaken hearth,

"T is for these she wildly grieves ! Now all scattered o'er the earth,

Like the wind-strewn autumn leaves!

His wife from her bower,

Will look forth in her sorrow,

But he ne'er shall return :

To her hope of to-morrow:

Alas for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,-
No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger.

Oh, loved of the Lotus,

Thy waters adorning !

Pour, Joliba! pour

Thy full streams to the mourning!

The Halcyon may take

Thy light wave for her pillow,

But wo to the white man,

That trusts to thy billow:

Alas for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,

No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger.

The American Female Slave.

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Ev'n her babes so dear, so young,

And so treasured in her heart,

That the cords which round them clung,
Seemed its life, its dearest part—

These, ev'n these where torn away!
These, that when all else were gone,
Cheered the heart, with one bright ray,
That still bade its pulse beat on!

Then to still her frantic wo,

The inhuman scourge was tried, Till the tears that ceased to flow, Were with redder drops supplied.

And can you behold unmoved,
All the crushing weight of grief,
That her aching heart has proved,
Seeking not to yield relief?

Are not woman's pulses warm,
Beating in that anguished breast?

Is it not a sister's form,

On whose limbs those fetters rest?

Oh then save her from a doom,
Worse than aught that ye may bear;

Let her pass not to the tomb,
Midst her bondage and despair.

Abolition of the Foreign Slave Trade.

LXXXVIII.*

To Thee, Almighty, gracious power,
Who sit'st, enthroned, in radiant heaven,
On this blessed morn, this hallowed hour,
The homage of the heart be given !

The nations heard his loud commands !
Britannia kindly sets us free;
Columbia rends the galling bands,

And gives the sweets of Liberty.

Then strike the lyre:-your voices raise !
Let gratitude inspire your song;
Pursue religion's holy ways,

Shun sinful pleasure's giddy throng;

Then, we our freedom shall retain,
In peace, and love, and cheerful toil,
And plenty cheer us from the main,

And golden harvests from the soil.

* Sung at the Beston celebration of the Abolition of the Foreign Slave Trade, July 14, 1808. Sermon by Jedediah Morse, D. D. Remainder of the services by Rev. Mr. Blood, Rev. Mr. Channing, and Rev: Mr. Codman.

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