AP O E MON THEI N H U M A N I T YOF THES L A V E - T R A D E.H U M B L Y I N S C R I B E DTO THERIGHT HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVERENDF R E D E R I C K,EARL OF BRISTOL, BISHOP OF DERRY, &c. &c.BY ANN YEARSLEY.Go seek the soul refin'd and strong: L O N D O NPRINTED FOR G.G.J. AND J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER-ROW
To the Right Hon. and Right Rev. FREDERICK, Earl of Bristol, Bishop of Derry, &c. &c.
MY LORD,
BEING convinced that your Ideas of Justice and Humanity are not confined to one Race of Men, I have endeavoured to lead you to the Indian Coast. My Intention is not to cause that Anguish in your Bosom which powerless Compassion ever gives: yet, my Vanity is flattered, when I but fancy that Your Lordship feels as I do.
ANN YEARSLEY.
AP O E MON THEI N H U M A N I T YOF THES L A V E - T R A D E.
BRISTOL, thine heart hath throbb'd to glory.—Slaves,
[ 2 ] Narrow; with that be blest, nor dare to stretchYour shackled souls along the course of Freedom.
Yet, Bristol, list! nor deem Lactilla's soul
[ 3 ] Wilt preach up filial piety; thy sonsWill groan, and stare with impudence at Heav'n, As if they did abjure the act, where Sin Sits full on Inhumanity; the church They fill with mouthing, vap'rous sighs and tears, Which, like the guileful crocodile's, oft fall, Nor fall, but at the cost of human bliss.
Custom, thou hast undone us! led us far
But come, ye souls who feel for human woe,
[ 4 ] Horrid and insupportable! far worseThan an immediate, an heroic death; Yet to this sight I summon thee. Approach, Thou slave of avarice, that canst see the maid Weep o'er her inky sire! Spare me, thou God Of all-indulgent Mercy, if I scorn This gloomy wretch, and turn my tearful eye To more enlighten'd beings. Yes, my tear Shall hang on the green furze, like pearly dew Upon the blossom of the morn. My song Shall teach sad Philomel a louder note, When Nature swells her woe. O'er suff'ring man My soul with sorrow bends! Then come, ye few Who feel a more than cold, material essence; Here ye may vent your sighs, till the bleak North Find its adherents aided. —Ah, no more!
[ 5 ] The dingy youth comes on, sullen in chains;He smiles on the rough sailor, who aloud Strikes at the spacious heav'n, the earth, the sea, In breath too blasphemous; yet not to him Blasphemous, for he dreads not either:—lost In dear internal imag'ry, the soul Of Indian Luco rises to his eyes, Silent, not inexpressive: the strong beams With eager wildness yet drink in the view Of his too humble home, where he had left His mourning father, and his Incilanda.
Curse on the toils spread by a Christian hand
[ 6 ] Perhaps a son, or a more tender daughter,Who might have clos'd his eyelids, as the spark Of life gently retired. Oh, thou poor world! Thou fleeting good to individuals! see How much for thee they care, how wide they ope Their helpless arms to clasp thee; vapour thou! More swift than passing wind! thou leav'st them nought Amid th'unreal scene, but a scant grave.
I know the crafty merchant will oppose Behold that Christian! see what horrid joy
[ 7 ] Lights up his moody features, while he graspsThe wish'd-for gold, purchase of human blood! Away, thou seller of mankind! Bring on Thy daughter to this market! bring thy wife! Thine aged mother, though of little worth, With all thy ruddy boys! Sell them, thou wretch, And swell the price of Luco! Why that start? Why gaze as thou wouldst fright me from my challenge With look of anguish? Is it Nature strains Thine heart-strings at the image? Yes, my charge Is full against her, and she rends thy soul, While I but strike upon thy pityless ear, Fearing her rights are violated. —Speak, Astound the voice of Justice! bid thy tears Melt the unpitying pow'r, while thus she claims The pledges of thy love. Oh, throw thine arm
[ 8 ] Around thy little ones, and loudly pleadThou canst not sell thy children.—Yet, beware Lest Luco's groan be heard; should that prevail, Justice will scorn thee in her turn, and hold Thine act against thy pray'r. Why clasp, she cries, That blooming youth? Is it because thou lov'st him? Why Luco was belov'd: then wilt thou feel, Thou selfish Christian, for thy private woe, Yet cause such pangs to him that is a father? Whence comes thy right to barter for thy fellows? Where are thy statutes? Whose the iron pen That gave thee precedent? Give me the seal Of virtue, or religion, for thy trade, And I will ne'er upbraid thee; but if force Superior, hard brutality alone
[ 9 ] Become thy boast, hence to some savage haunt,Nor claim protection from my social laws.
Luco is gone; his little brothers weep,
[ 10 ] She creeps, with timid foot, while Sol embrownsThe bosom of the isle, to where she left Her faithful lover: here the well-known cave, By Nature form'd amid the rock, endears The image of her Luco; here his pipe, Form'd of the polish'd cane, neglected lies, No more to vibrate; here the useless dart, The twanging bow, and the fierce panther's skin, Salute the virgin's eye. But where is Luco? He comes not down the steep, tho' he had vow'd, When the sun's beams at noon should sidelong gild The cave's wide entrance, he would swift descend To bless his Incilanda. Ten pale moons Had glided by, since to his generous breast He clasp'd the tender maid, and whisper'd love.
[ 11 ] Oh, mutual sentiment! thou dang'rous bliss!So exquisite, that Heav'n had been unjust Had it bestowd less exquisite of ill; When thou art held no more, thy pangs are deep, Thy joys convulsive to the soul; yet all Are meant to smooth th'uneven road of life.
For Incilanda, Luco rang'd the wild,
[ 12 ] Pursued the gen'rous Luco to the field,And glow'd with rapture at his wish'd return.
Ah, sweet suspense! betwixt the mingled cares
[ 13 ] Of forc'd philosophy to calm his soul,But all the anarchy of wounded nature.
Now he arraigns his country's gods, who sit,
[ 14 ] The work of a Creator. Pause not here,Distracted maid! ah, leave the breathless form, On whose cold cheek thy tears so swiftly fall, Too unavailing! On this stone, she cries, My Luco sat, and to the wand'ring stars Pointed my eye, while from his gentle tongue Fell old traditions of his country's woe. Where now shall Incilanda seek him? Hence, Defenceless mourner, ere the dreary night Wrap thee in added horror. Oh, Despair, How eagerly thou rend'st the heart! She pines In anguish deep, and sullen: Luco's form Pursues her, lives in restless thought, and chides Soft consolation. Banish'd from his arms, She seeks the cold embrace of death; her soul Escapes in one sad sigh. Too hapless maid!
[ 15 ] Yet happier far than he thou lov'dst; his tear,His sigh, his groan avail not, for they plead Most weakly with a Christian. Sink, thou wretch, Whose act shall on the cheek of Albion's sons Throw Shame's red blush: thou, who hast frighted far Those simple wretches from thy God, and taught Their erring minds to mourn his * partial love, Profusely pour'd on thee, while they are left Neglected to thy mercy. Thus deceiv'd, How doubly dark must be their road to death!
Luco is borne around the neighb'ring isles, * Indians have been often heard to say, in their complaining moments, "God Almighty no love us well; he be good to † buckera; he bid buckera burn us; he no burn buckera." † White man
[ 16 ] Amid the pathless wave; destin'd to plantThe sweet luxuriant cane. He strives to please, Nor once complains, but greatly smothers grief. His hands are blister'd, and his feet are worn, Till ev'ry stroke dealt by his mattock gives Keen agony to life; while from his breast The sigh arises, burthen'd with the name Of Incilanda. Time inures the youth, His limbs grow nervous, strain'd by willing toil; And resignation, or a calm despair, (Most useful either) lulls him to repose.
A Christian renegade, that from his soul
[ 17 ] Which must have made his life a retributionTo violated justice, and had gain'd, By fawning guile, the confidence (ill placed) Of Luco's master. O'er the slave he stands With knotted whip, lest fainting nature shun The task too arduous, while his cruel soul, Unnat'ral, ever feeds, with gross delight, Upon his suff rings. Many slaves there were, But none who could supress the sigh, and bend, So quietly as Luco: long he bore The stripes, that from his manly bosom drew The sanguine stream (too little priz'd); at length Hope fled his soul, giving her struggles o'er, And he resolv'd to die. The sun had reach'd His zenith—pausing faintly, Luco stood, Leaning upon his hoe, while mem'ry brought,
[ 18 ] In piteous imag'ry, his aged father,His poor fond mother, and his faithful maid: The mental group in wildest motion set Fruitless imagination; fury, grief, Alternate shame, the sense of insult, all Conspire to aid the inward storm; yet words Were no relief, he stood in silent woe.
Gorgon, remorseless Christian, saw the slave
[ 19 ] By nature fierce; while Luco sought the beach,And plung'd beneath the wave; but near him lay A planter's barge, whose seamen grasp'd his hair Dragging to life a wretch who wish'd to die.
Rumour now spreads the tale, while Gorgon's breath
[ 20 ] In an increasing train, some paces back,To kindle slowly, and approach the youth, With more than native terror. See, it burns! He gazes on the growing flame, and calls For "water, water!" The small boon's deny'd. E'en Christians throng each other, to behold The different alterations of his face, As the hot death approaches. (Oh, shame, shame Upon the followers of Jesus! shame On him that dares avow a God!) He writhes, While down his breast glide the unpity'd tears, And in their sockets strain their scorched balls. "Burn, burn me quick! I cannot die!" he cries: "Bring fire more close!" The planters heed him not, But still prolonging Luco's torture, threat Their trembling slaves around. His lips are dry,
[ 21 ] His senses seem to quiver, e'er they quitHis frame for ever, rallying strong, then driv'n From the tremendous conflict. Sight no more Is Luco's, his parch'd tongue is ever mute; Yet in his soul his Incilanda stays, Till both escape together. Turn, my muse, From this sad scene; lead Bristol's milder soul To where the solitary spirit roves, Wrapt in the robe of innocence, to shades Where pity breathing in the gale, dissolves The mind, when fancy paints such real woe.
Now speak, ye Christians (who for gain enslave
[ 22 ] A blind, involuntary victim), whereIs your true essence of religion? where Your proofs of righteousness, when ye conceal The knowledge of the Deity from those Who would adore him fervently? Your God Ye rob of worshippers, his altars keep Unhail'd, while driving from the sacred font The eager slave, lest he should hope in Jesus.
Is this your piety? Are these your laws,
[ 23 ] The name of * Mussulman would start, and shunYour worse than serpent touch; he frees his slave Who turns to Mahomet. The † Spaniard stands Your brighter contrast; he condemns the youth For ever to the mine; but ere the wretch Sinks to the deep domain, the hand of Faith Bathes his faint temples in the sacred stream, Bidding his spirit hope. Briton, dost thou Act up to this? If so, bring on thy slaves To Calv'ry's mount, raise high their kindred souls To him who died to save them: this alone Will teach them calmly to obey thy rage, And deem a life of misery but a day, * The Turk gives freedom to his slave on condition that he embraces Mahometism. † The Spaniard, immediately on purchasing an Indian, gives him baptism.
[ 24 ] To long eternity. Ah, think how soonThine head shall on earth's dreary pillow lie, With thy poor slaves, each silent, and unknown To his once furious neighbour. Think how swift The sands of time ebb out, for him and thee. Why groans that Indian youth, in burning chains Suspended o'er the beach? The lab'ring sun Strikes from his full meridian on the slave Whose arms are blister'd by the heated iron, Which still corroding, seeks the bone. What crime Merits so dire a death? * Another gasps * A coromantin slave in Jamaica (who had frequently escaped to the mountains) was, a few years since, doomed to have his leg cut off. A young practitioner from England (after the surgeon of the estate had refused to be an executioner) undertook the operation, but after the removal of the limb, on the slave's exclaiming, You buckera! God Almightly made dat leg; you cut
[ 25 ] With strongest agony, while life declinesFrom recent amputation. Gracious God! Why thus in mercy let thy whirlwinds sleep O'er a vile race of Christians, who profane Thy glorious attributes? Sweep them from earth, Or check their cruel pow'r: the savage tribes Are angels when compared to brutes like these.
Advance, ye Christians, and oppose my strain:
it off! You put it on again? was so shocked, that the other surgeon was obliged to take up the vessals, apply the dressings, &c. The Negro suffered without a groan, called for his pipe, and calmly smoaked, till the absence of his attendant gave him an opportunity of tearing off his bandages, when he bled to death in an instant.
Many will call this act of the Negro's stubbornness; under such circumstances, I dare give it a more glorious epithet, and that is fortitude.
[ 26 ] That ye derive your privilege. I scornThe cry of Av'rice, or the trade that drains A fellow-creature's blood: bid Commerce plead Her publick good, her nation's many wants, Her sons thrown idly on the beach, forbade To seize the image of their God and sell it:— I'll hear her voice, and Virtue's hundred tongues Shall sound against her. Hath our public good Fell rapine for its basis? Must our wants Find their supply in murder? Shall the sons Of Commerce shiv'ring stand, if not employ'd Worse than the midnight robber? Curses fall On the destructive system that shall need Such base supports! Doth England need them? No; Her laws, with prudence, hang the meagre thief That from his neighbour steals a slender sum,
[ 27 ] Tho' famine drove him on. O'er him the priest,Beneath the fatal tree, laments the crime, Approves the law, and bids him calmly die. Say, doth this law, that dooms the thief, protect The wretch who makes another's life his prey, By hellish force to take it at his will? Is this an English law, whose guidance fails When crimes are swell'd to magnitude so vast, That Justice dare not scan them? Or does Law Bid Justice an eternal distance keep From England's great tribunal, when the slave Calls loud on Justice only? Speak, ye few Who fill Britannia's senate, and are deem'd The fathers of your country! Boast your laws, Defend the honour of a land so fall'n,
[ 28 ] That Fame from ev'ry battlement is flown,And Heathens start, e'en at a Christian's name.
Hail, social love! true soul of order, hail!
[ 29 ] Of future glory; bid them live to Fame,Whose banners wave for ever. Thus inspired, All that is great, and good, and sweetly mild, Shall fill his noble bosom. He shall melt, Yea, by thy sympathy unseen, shall feel Another's pang: for the lamenting maid His heart shall heave a sigh; with the old slave (Whose head is bent with sorrow) he shall cast His eye back on the joys of youth, and say, "Thou once couldst feel, as I do, love's pure bliss; "Parental fondness, and the dear returns "Of filial tenderness were thine, till torn "From the dissolving scene."—Oh, social love, Thou universal good, thou that canst fill The vacuum of immensity, and live In endless void! thou that in motion first
[ 30 ] Set'st the long lazy atoms, by thy forceQuickly assimilating, and restrain'd By strong attraction; touch the soul of man; Subdue him; make a fellow-creature's woe His own by heart-felt sympathy, whilst wealth Is made subservient to his soft disease.
And when thou hast to high perfection wrought F I N I S.
A Note on the Text
Ann Yearsley, A Poem on the Inhumanity of the Slave Trade (London: G.G.J. and J. Robinson, 1788)
This e-text is located at www.brycchancarey.com/slavery/yearsley1.htm
Copy Text: This is the full text of the poem. The copy text used is held in The British Library, shelfmark: 11641.g.47. (3.) This e-text has been formatted to closely resemble the original, but it is not an exact facsimile.
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