<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117556" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Appeal for the Oppressed</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Daughters of the Pilgrim sires,<br>Dwellers by their mouldering graves,<br>Watchers of their altar fires,<br>Look upon your country's slaves!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look! 't is woman's streaming eye,<br>These are woman's fetter'd hands,<br>That to you so mournfully<br>Lift sad glance, and iron bands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mute, yet strong appeal of woe!<br>Wakes it not your starting tears?<br>Though your hearts may never know,<br>Half the bitter doom of hers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Scars are on her fetter'd limbs,<br>Where the savage scourge hath been;<br>But the grief, her eye that dims,<br>Flows for deeper wounds within.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the children of her love,<br>For the brothers of her race,<br>Sisters, like vine branches wove,<br>In one early dwelling place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the parent forms, that hung<br>Fondly o'er her infant sleep,<br>And for him, to whom she clung<br>With affection true and deep—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">By her sad forsaken hearth,<br>'T is for these she wildly grieves!<br>Now all scatter'd o'er the earth,<br>Like the wind-strewn autumn leaves!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">E'en her babes, so dear, so young,<br>And so treasured in her heart,<br>That the chords which round them clung<br>Seem'd its life, its dearest part—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These, ev'n these, were torn away!<br>These, that when all else were gone,<br>Cheer'd her heart with one bright ray,<br>That still bade its pulse beat on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, to still her frantic woe,<br>The inhuman scourge was tried,<br>Till the tears that ceased to flow,<br>Were with redder drops supplied!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And can you behold unmoved,<br>All the crushing weight of grief,<br>That her aching heart has proved,<br>Seeking not to yield relief?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Are not woman's pulses warm,<br>Beating in this anguish'd breast?<br>Is it not a sister's form,<br>On whose limbs these fetters rest?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh then, save her from a doom,<br>Worse than all that ye may bear;<br>Let her pass not to the tomb<br>'Midst her bondage and despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117556" data-title="An Appeal for the Oppressed de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="Daughters of the Pilgrim sires,/Dwellers by their mouldering graves,/Watchers of their altar fires,/Look upon your country's slaves!/Look! 't is woman's streaming eye,/These are woman's fetter'd hands,/That to you so mournfully/Lift sad glance, an..."></div> </div> </div>

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