The Liberty Minstrel | Page 9

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.
Oh! 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.

HEARD YE THAT CRY.
From "Wind of the Winter night."
[Music]
Heard ye that cry! Twas the wail of a slave,
As he sank in despair, to
the rest of the grave;
Behold him where bleeding and prostrate he lies,

Unfriended he lived, and unpitied he died.
The white man oppressed him--the white man for gold,
Made him toil
amidst tortures that cannot be told;
He robbed him, and spoiled him,
of all that was dear,
And made him the prey of affliction and fear.
But his anguish was seen, and his wailings were heard,
By the Lord
God of Hosts; whose vengeance deferred,
Gathers force by delay, and
with fury will burst,
On his impious oppressor--the tyrant accurst!
Arouse ye, arouse ye! ye generous and brave,
Plead the rights of the
poor--plead the cause of the slave; Nor cease your exertions till broken
shall be
The fetters that bind him, and the slave shall be free.
Sleep on my Child.
BY R.J.H.
Sleep on, my child, in peaceful rest,
While lovely visions round thee
play;
No care or grief has touched thy breast,
Thy life is yet a
cloudless day.
Far distant is my childhood's home--
No mother's smiles--no father's
care!
Oh! how I'd love again to roam,
Where once my little
playmates were!
Sleep on, thou hast not felt the chain;
But though 'tis yet unmingled
joy,
I may not see those smiles again,
Nor clasp thee to my breast,

my boy.
And must I see thee toil and bleed!
Thy manly soul in fetters tied;

'Twill wring thy mother's heart indeed--
Oh! would to God that I had
died!
That soul God's own bright image bears--
But oh! no tongue thy woes
can tell;
Thy lot is cast in blood and tears,
And soon these lips must
say--farewell!
ZAZA--THE FEMALE SLAVE.
Words by Miss Ball. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
O my country, my country! how long I for thee,
Far over the
mountain, far over the sea.
Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore,

Say, shall I wander by thee never more?
Where the sweet Joliba
kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more?
O my
country, my country! how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far
over the sea.
Say, O fond Zurima,
Where dost thou stay?
Say, doth another
List
to thy sweet lay?
Say, doth the orange still
Bloom near our cot?

Zurima, Zurima,
Am I forgot?
O, my country, my country! how
long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Under the baobab
Oft have I slept,
Fanned by sweet breezes
That
over me swept.
Often in dreams
Do my weary limbs lay
'Neath
the same baobab,
Far, far away,
O my country, my country, how
long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
O for the breath
Of our own waving palm,
Here, as I languish,
My
spirit to calm--
O for a draught
From our own cooling lake,

Brought by sweet mother,
My spirit to wake.

O my country, my

country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
PRAYER FOR THE SLAVE.
Tune--Hamburgh.
[Music]
Oh let the pris'ner's mournful sighs
As incense in thy sight appear!

Their humble wailings pierce the skies,
If haply they may feel thee
near.
The captive exiles make their moans,
From sin impatient to be free;

Call home, call home, thy banished ones!
Lead captive their
captivity!
Out of the deep regard their cries,
The fallen raise, the mourners
cheer,
Oh, Son of Righteousness, arise,
And scatter all their doubts
and fear.
Stand by them in the fiery hour,
Their feebleness of mind defend;

And in their weakness show thy power,
And make them patient to the
end.
Relieve the souls whose cross we bear,
For whom thy suffering
members mourn:
Answer our faith's effectual prayer;
And break the
yoke so meekly borne!
Remembering that God is just.
Oh righteous God! whose awful frown
Can crumble nations to the
dust,
Trembling we stand before thy throne,
When we reflect that
thou art just.
Dost thou not see the dreadful wrong,
Which Afric's injured race
sustains?
And wilt thou not arise ere long,
To plead their cause, and
break their chains?

Must not thine anger quickly rise
Against the men whom lust controls,

Who dare thy righteous laws despise
And traffic in the blood of
souls?
THE FUGITIVE.
Words by L.M.C. Air "Bonny Doon."
[Music]
A noble man of sable brow
Came to my humble cottage door,
With
cautious, weary step and slow,
And asked if I could feed the poor;

He begged if I had ought to give,
To help the panting fugitive.
I told him he had fled away
From