The Black Man's Lament

But, Negro slave! thyself shall tell, Of past and present wrongs the story; And would all British hearts could feel, To end those wrongs were Britain's glory.

First to our own dear Negro land, His ships the cruel White man sends; And there contrives, by armed band, To tear us from our homes and friends;

For what awaited us on shore, Soon as the ship had reach'd the strand, Unloading its degraded store Of freemen, forc'd from Negro land?

See! eager White men come around, To choose and claim us for their slaves; And make us envy those who found In the dark ship their early graves.

They bid black men and women stand In lines, the drivers in the rear: Poor Negroes hold a hoe in hand, But they the wicked cart-whip bear.

Then we, in gangs, like beasts in droves, Swift to the cane-fields driven are; There first our toil the weeds removes, And next we holes for plants prepare.

But woe to all, both old and young, Women and men, or strong or weak, Worn out or fresh, those gangs among, That dare the toilsome line to break!

As holes must all at once be made, Together we must work or stop; Therefore, the whip our strength must aid, And lash us when we pause or drop!

When we have dug sufficient space, The bright-eye top of many a cane, Lengthways, we in the trenches place, And then we trenches dig again.

We cover next the plants with mould; And e'en, ere fifteen days come round, We can the slender sprouts behold, Just shooting greenly from the ground.

The weeds about them clear'd away, Then mould again by hand we throw; And, at no very distant day, Here Negroes plough, and there they hoe.

But when the crops are ripen'd quite, 'Tis then begin our saddest pains; For then we toil both day and night, Though fever burns within our veins.

When 18 months complete their growth, Then the tall canes rich juices fill; And we, to bring their liquor forth, Convey them to the bruising-mill.

That mill, our labour, every hour, Must with fresh loads of canes supply; And if we faint, the cart-whip's power, Gives force which nature's powers deny.

Our task is next to catch the juice In leaden bed, soon as it flows; And instant, lest it spoil for use, It into boiling vessels goes.

Nor one alone: four vessels more Receive and clear the sugar-tide. Six coolers next receive the store; Long vessels, shallow, wooden, wide.

While cooling, it begins to grain, Or form in crystals white and clear; Then we remove the whole again, And to the curing-house we bear.

Molasses there is drain'd away; The liquor is through hogsheads pour'd; The scum falls through, the crystals stay; The casks are clos'd, and soon on board.

But when the Sabbath-eve comes round, That eve which White men sacred keep, Again we at our toil are found, And six days more we work and weep.

"But, Negro slave, some men must toil. The English peasant works all day; Turns up, and sows, and ploughs the soil. Thou wouldst not, sure, have Negroes play?"

"He has a cottage, he a wife; If child he has, that child is free. I am depriv'd of married life, And my poor child were slave like me.

"Unlike his home, ours is a shed Of pine-tree trunks, unsquar'd, ill-clos'd; Blanket we have, but not a bed, Whene'er to short, chill sleep dispos'd.

"Work for ourselves and others too? When all our master's work is o'er, How could we bear our own to do? Poor, weary slaves, hot, scourg'd, and sore!

"Sometimes, 'tis true, when Sabbath-bell Calls White man to the house of pray'r, And makes poor blacks more sadly feel 'Tis thought slaves have no business there:

"There are, I'm told, upon some isles, Masters who gentle deign to be; And there, perhaps, the Negro smiles, But smiling Negroes few can see.

"Well, I must learn to bear my pain; And, lately, I am grown more calm; For Christian men come o'er the main, To pour in Negro souls a balm.

"Yet still, at times, with fear I shrink; For, when with sense of injury prest, I burn with rage! and then I think I ne'er can gain that place of rest."

He ceas'd; for here his tears would flow, And ne'er resum'd his tale of ruth. Alas! it rends my heart to know He only told a tale of truth.