The Anti-Slavery Harp: A Collection of Songs for Anti-Slavery Meetings — Background and Themes

She was my angel, my love and pride-- Vainly to save her from torture I tried, Poor broken heart! She rejoiced as she died, Long, long ago--long, long ago!

Let me look back on the days of my youth-- Long, long ago--long ago! Master withheld from me knowledge and truth-- Long, long ago--long ago! Crushed all the hopes of my earliest day, Sent me from father and mother away-- Forbade me to read, nor allowed me to pray-- Long, long ago--long, long ago!

FLIGHT OF THE BONDMAN. DEDICATED TO WILLIAM W. BROWN _And Sung by the Hutchinsons_

From the crack of the rifle and baying of hound, Takes the poor panting bondman his flight; His couch through the day is the cold damp ground, But northward he runs through the night.

Chorus. O, God speed the flight of the desolate slave, Let his heart never yield to despair; There is room 'mong our hills for the true and the brave, Let his lungs breathe our free northern air!

O, sweet to the storm-driven sailor the light, Streaming far o'er the dark swelling wave; But sweeter by far 'mong the lights of the night, Is the star of the north to the slave. O, God speed, &c.

Cold and bleak are our mountains and chilling our winds, But warm as the soft southern gales Be the hands and the hearts which the hunted one finds, 'Mong our hills and our own winter vales. O, God speed, &c.

Then list to the 'plaint of the heart-broken thrall, Ye blood-hounds, go back to your lair; May a free northern soil soon give freedom to _all_, Who shall breathe in its pure mountain air. O, God speed, &c.

THE SWEETS OF LIBERTY.

AIR--Is there a heart, &c.

Is there a man that never sighed To set the prisoner free? Is there a man that never prized The sweets of liberty? Then let him, let him breathe unseen, Or in a dungeon live; Nor never, never know the sweets That liberty can give.

Is there a heart so cold in man, Can galling fetters crave? Is there a wretch so truly low, Can stoop to be a slave? O, let him, then, in chains be bound, In chains and bondage live; Nor never, never know the sweets That liberty can give.

Is there a breast so chilled in life, Can nurse the coward's sigh? Is there a creature so debased, Would not for freedom die? O, let him then be doomed to crawl Where only reptiles live; Nor never, never know the sweets That liberty can give.

YE SPIRITS OF THE FREE.

AIR--My Faith looks up to thee.

Ye spirits of the free, Can ye forever see Your brother man A yoked and scourged slave, Chains dragging to his grave, And raise no hand to save? Say if you can.

In pride and pomp to roll, Shall tyrants from the soul God's image tear, And call the wreck their own,-- While, from the eternal throne, They shut the stifled groan And bitter prayer?

Shall he a slave be bound, Whom God hath doubly crowned Creation's lord? Shall men of Christian name, Without a blush of shame, Profess their tyrant claim From God's own word?

No! at the battle cry, A host prepared to die, Shall arm for fight-- But not with martial steel, Grasped with a murderous zeal; No arms their foes shall feel, But love and light.

Firm on Jehovah's laws, Strong in their righteous cause, They march to save. And vain the tyrant's mail, Against their battle-hail, Till cease the woe and wail Of tortured slave!

COLONIZATION SONG. TO THE FREE COLORED PEOPLE.

AIR--Spider and the fly.

Will you, will you be colonized? Will you, will you be colonized?

'Tis a land that with honey And milk doth abound, Where the lash is not heard, And the scourge is not found. Chorus, Will you, &c.

If you stay in this land Where the white man has rule, You will starve by his hand, In both body and soul. Chorus.

For a nuisance you are, In this land of your birth, Held down by his hand, And crushed to the earth. Chorus.

My religion is pure, And came from above, But I cannot consent The black negro to love. Chorus.

It is true there is judgment That hangs o'er the land, But 't will all turn aside, When you follow the plan. Chorus.

You're ignorant I know, In this land of your birth, And religion though pure, Cannot move the curse. Chorus.

But only consent, Though extorted by force, What a blessing you'll prove, On the African coast. Chorus.

I AM AN ABOLITIONIST.

I am an Abolitionist! I glory in the name: Though now by Slavery's minions hiss'd And covered o'er with shame, It is a spell of light and power-- The watchword of the free:-- Who spurns it in the trial-hour, A craven soul is he!

I am an Abolitionist! Then urge me not to pause; For joyfully do I enlist In FREEDOM'S sacred cause: A nobler strife the world ne'er saw, Th' enslaved to disenthral; I am a soldier for the war, Whatever may befall!

I am an Abolitionist! Oppression's deadly foe; In God's great strength will I resist, And lay the monster low; In God's great name do I demand, To all be freedom given, That peace and joy may fill the land, And songs go up to heaven!

I am an Abolitionist! No threats shall awe my soul, No perils cause me to desist, No bribes my acts control; A freeman will I live and die, In sunshine and in shade, And raise my voice for liberty, Of nought on earth afraid.

Air--Kathleen O'More.

O, deep was the anguish of the slave mother's heart, When called from her darling for ever to part; So grieved that lone mother, that heart broken mother, In sorrow and woe.

The lash of the master her deep sorrows mock, While the child of her bosom is sold on the block; Yet loud shrieked that mother, poor heart broken mother, In sorrow and woe.

The babe in return, for its fond mother cries, While the sound of their wailings, together arise; They shriek for each other, the child and the mother, In sorrow and woe.

The harsh auctioneer, to sympathy cold, Tears the babe from its mother and sells it for gold; While the infant and mother, loud shriek for each other, In sorrow and woe.

At last came the parting of mother and child, Her brain reeled with madness, that mother was wild; Then the lash could not smother the shrieks of that mother Of sorrow and woe.

The child was borne off to a far distant clime, While the mother was left in anguish to pine; But reason departed, and she sank broken hearted, In sorrow and woe.

That poor mourning mother, of reason bereft, Soon ended her sorrows and sank cold in death; Thus died that slave mother, poor heart broken mother, In sorrow and woe.

O, list ye kind mothers to the cries of the slave; The parents and children implore you to save; Go! rescue the mothers, the sisters and brothers, From sorrow and woe.

Quick, fly to the covert, thou hunted of men! For the bloodhounds are baying o'er mountain and glen; The riders are mounted, the loose rein is given, And curses of wrath are ascending to heaven. O, speed to thy footsteps! for ruin and death, Like the hurricane's rage, gather thick round thy path; And the deep muttered curses grow loud and more loud, As horse after horse swells the thundering crowd.

Speed, speed, to thy footsteps! thy track has been found; Now, _sport_ for the _rider_, and _blood_ for the _hound!_ Through brake and through forest the man-prey is driven; O, help for the hopeless, thou merciful Heaven! On! on to the mountain! they're baffled again, And hope for the woe-stricken still may remain; The fast-flagging steeds are all white with their foam, The bloodhounds have turned from the chase to their home.

Joy! joy to the wronged one! the haven he gains, Escaped from his thraldom, and freed from his chains! The heaven-stamped image--the God-given soul-- No more shall the spoiler at pleasure control. O, shame to Columbia, that on her bright plains, Man pines in his fetters, and curses his chains! Shame! shame! that her star-spangled banner should wave Where the lash is made red in the blood of the slave.

Sons of old Pilgrim Fathers! and are ye thus dumb? Shall tyranny triumph, and freedom succumb? While mothers are torn from their children apart, And agony sunders the cords of the heart? Shall the sons of those sires that once spurned the chain, Turn bloodhounds to hunt and make captive again? O, shame to your honor, and shame to your pride, And shame on your memory ever abide!

Will not your old sires start up from the ground, At the crack of the whip, and bay of the hound, And shaking their skeleton hands in your face, Curse the germs that produced such a miscreant race?

O, rouse ye for freedom, before on your path Heaven pours without mixture the vials of wrath! Loose every hard burden--break off every chain-- Restore to the bondman his freedom again.

FLING OUT THE ANTI-SLAVERY FLAG.

Fling out the Anti-slavery flag On every swelling breeze; And let its folds wave o'er the land, And o'er the raging seas, Till all beneath the standard sheet, With new allegiance bow; And pledge themselves to onward bear The emblem of their vow.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, And let it onward wave Till it shall float o'er every clime, And liberate the slave; Till, like a meteor flashing far, It bursts with glorious light, And with its Heaven-born rays dispels The gloom of sorrow's night.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, And let it not be furled, Till like a planet of the skies, It sweeps around the world. And when each poor degraded slave, Is gathered near and far; O, fix it on the azure arch, As hope's eternal star.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, Forever let it be The emblem to a holy cause, The banner of the free. And never from its guardian height, Let it by man be driven, But let it float forever there, Beneath the smiles of heaven.

She sings by her wheel at that low cottage door, Which the long evening shadow is stretching before; With a music as sweet as the music which seems Breathed softly and faintly in the ear of our dreams!

How brilliant and mirthful the light of her eye, Like a star glancing out from the blue of the sky! And lightly and freely her dark tresses play O'er a brow and a bosom as lovely as they!

Who comes in his pride to that low cottage door-- The haughty and rich to the humble and poor? 'Tis the great Southern planter--the master who waves His whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves.

"Nay, Ellen, for shame! Let those Yankee fools spin, Who would pass for our slaves with a change of their skin; Let them toil as they will at the loom or the wheel Too stupid for shame and too vulgar to feel!

"But thou art too lovely and precious a gem To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them-- For shame, Ellen, shame!--cast thy bondage aside, And away to the South, as my blessing and pride.

"O, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong, But where flowers are blossoming all the year long, Where the shade of the palm-tree is over my home, And the lemon and orange are white in their bloom!

"O, come to my home, where my servants shall all Depart at thy bidding and come at thy call; They shall heed thee as mistress with trembling and awe, And each wish of thy heart shall be felt as a law."

O, could ye have seen her--that pride of our girls-- Arise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls, With a scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel, And a glance like the sunshine that flashes on steel:

"Go back, haughty Southron! thy treasures of gold Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold! Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear The crack of the whip and the footsteps of fear!

"And the sky of thy South may be brighter than ours, And greener thy landscapes, and fairer thy flowers; But, dearer the blast round our mountains which raves, Than the sweet sunny zephyr which breathes over slaves!

"Full low at thy bidding thy negroes may kneel, With the iron of bondage on spirit and heel; Yet know that the Yankee girl sooner would be In _fetters_ with _them_, than in freedom with _thee!_"

From Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.

JEFFERSON'S DAUGHTER.

"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.

THE SLAVE-AUCTION--A FACT.

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!

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!!!

BE FREE, O MAN, BE FREE.

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 FUGITIVE SLAVE TO THE CHRISTIAN.

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?

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.