George Moses Horton

Weep for the country in its present state, And of the gloom which still the future waits; The proud confederate eagle heard the sound, And with her flight fell prostrate to the ground! Weep for the loss the country has sustained, By which her now dependent is in jail; The grief of him who now the war survived, The conscript husbands and the weeping wives! Weep for the seas of blood the battle cost, And souls that ever hope forever lost! The ravage of the field with no recruit, Trees by the vengeance blasted to the root! Weep for the downfall o'er your heads and chief, Who sunk without a medium of relief; Who fell beneath the hatchet of their pride, Then like the serpent bit themselves and died! Weep for the downfall of your president, Who far too late his folly must repent; Who like the dragon did all heaven assail, And dragged his friends to limbo with his tail! Weep o'er peculiar swelling coffers void, Our treasures left, and all their banks destroyed; Their foundless notes replete with shame to all, Expecting every day their final fall, In quest of profit never to be won, Then sadly fallen and forever down!

What sudden ill the world await, From my dear residence I roam; I must deplore the bitter fate, To straggle from my native home. The verdant willow droops her head, And seems to bid a fare thee well; The flowers with tears their fragrance shed, Alas! their parting tale to tell. ’Tis like the loss of Paradise, Or Eden’s garden left in gloom, Where grief affords us no device; Such is thy lot, my native home. I never, never shall forget My sad departure far away, Until the sun of life is set, And leaves behind no beam of day. How can I from my seat remove And leave my ever devoted home, And the dear garden which I love, The beauty of my native home? Alas! sequestered, set aside, It is a mournful tale to tell; ’Tis like a lone deserted bride That bade her bridegroom fare thee well. I trust I soon shall dry the tear And leave forever hence to roam, Far from a residence so dear, The place of beauty—my native home.

Esteville begins to burn; The auburn fields of harvest rise; The torrid flames again return, And thunders roll along the skies. Perspiring Cancer lifts his head, And roars terrific from on high; Whose voice the timid creatures dread; From which they strive with awe to fly. The night-hawk ventures from his cell, And starts his note in evening air; He feels the heat his bosom swell, Which drives away the gloom of fear. Thou noisy insect, start thy drum; Rise lamp-like bugs to light the train; And bid sweet Philomela come, And sound in front the nightly strain. The bee begins her ceaseless hum, And doth with sweet exertions rise; And with delight she stores her comb, And well her rising stock supplies. Let sportive children well beware, While sprightly frisking o’er the green; And carefully avoid the snare, Which lurks beneath the smiling scene. The mistress bird assumes her nest, And broods in silence on the tree, Her note to cease, her wings at rest, She patient waits her young to see.

Alas! and am I born for this, To wear this slavish chain? Deprived of all created bliss, Through hardship, toil and pain! How long have I in bondage lain, And languished to be free! Alas! and must I still complain— Deprived of liberty. Oh, Heaven! and is there no relief This side the silent grave— To soothe the pain—to quell the grief And anguish of a slave? Come Liberty, thou cheerful sound, Roll through my ravished ears! Come, let my grief in joys be drowned, And drive away my fears. Say unto foul oppression, Cease: Ye tyrants rage no more, And let the joyful trump of peace, Now bid the vassal soar. Soar on the pinions of that dove Which long has cooed for thee, And breathed her notes from Afric’s grove, The sound of Liberty. Oh, Liberty! thou golden prize, So often sought by blood— We crave thy sacred sun to rise, The gift of nature’s God! Bid Slavery hide her haggard face, And barbarism fly: I scorn to see the sad disgrace In which enslaved I lie. Dear Liberty! upon thy breast, I languish to respire; And like the Swan unto her nest, I’d like to thy smiles retire. Oh, blest asylum—heavenly balm! Unto thy boughs I flee— And in thy shades the storm shall calm, With songs of Liberty!

He is gone, the strong base of the nation, The dove to his covet has fled; Ye heroes lament his privation, For Lincoln is dead. He is gone down, the sun of the Union, Like Phoebus, that sets in the west; The planet of peace and communion, Forever has gone to his rest. He is gone down from a world of commotion, No equal succeeds in his stead; His wonders extend with the ocean, Whose waves murmur, Lincoln is dead. He is gone and can ne’er be forgotten, Whose great deeds eternal shall bloom; When gold, pearls and diamonds are rotten, His deeds will break forth from the tomb. He is gone out of glory to glory, A smile with the tear may be shed, O, then let us tell the sweet story, Triumphantly, Lincoln is dead.

Dedicated to the Federal and Late Confederate Soldiers Like heart-loving brothers we meet, And still the loud thunders of strife, The blaze of fraternity kindles most sweet, There’s nothing more pleasing in life. The black cloud of faction retreats, The poor is no longer depressed, See those once discarded resuming their seats, The lost strangers soon will find rest. The soldier no longer shall roam, But soon shall land safely ashore, Each soon will arrive at his own native home, And struggle in warfare no more. The union of brothers is sweet, Whose wives and children do come, Their sons and fair daughters with pleasure they greet, When long absent fathers come home. They never shall languish again, Nor discord their union shall break, When brothers no longer lament and complain, Hence never each other forsake. Hang closely together like friends, By peace killing foes never driven, The storm of commotion eternally ends, And earth will soon turn into Heaven.

I feel myself in need Of the inspiring strains of ancient lore, My heart to lift, my empty mind to feed, And all the world explore. I know that I am old And never can recover what is past, But for the future may some light unfold And soar from ages blast. I feel resolved to try, My wish to prove, my calling to pursue, Or mount up from the earth into the sky, To show what Heaven can do. My genius from a boy, Has fluttered like a bird within my heart; But could not thus confined her powers employ, Impatient to depart. She like a restless bird, Would spread her wing, her power to be unfurl’d, And let her songs be loudly heard, And dart from world to world.

I lov’d thee from the earliest dawn, When first I saw thy beauty’s ray, And will, until life’s eve comes on, And beauty’s blossom fades away; And when all things go well with thee, With smiles and tears remember me. I’ll love thee when thy morn is past, And wheedling gallantry is o’er, When youth is lost in age’s blast, And beauty can ascend no more, And when life’s journey ends with thee, O, then look back and think of me. I’ll love thee with a smile or frown, ’Mid sorrow’s gloom or pleasure’s light, And when the chain of life runs down, Pursue thy last eternal flight, When thou hast spread thy wing to flee, Still, still, a moment wait for me. I’ll love thee for those sparkling eyes, To which my fondness was betray’d, Bearing the tincture of the skies, To glow when other beauties fade, And when they sink too low to see, Reflect an azure beam on me.