Poems On The Slave Trade - Sonnet IV
'Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep
As undisturb'd as Justice! but no more
The wretched Slave, as on his native shore,
Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep!
Tho' thro' the toil and anguish of the day
No tear escap'd him, not one suffering groan
Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone
In bitterness; thinking that far away
Tho' the gay negroes join the midnight song,
Tho' merriment resounds on Niger's shore,
She whom he loves far from the chearful throng
Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door
With dim grown eye, silent and woe-begone,
And weeps for him who will return no more.
poem by Robert Southey
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Related quotes
Ballad (1)
A heart laments: you do not find her,
Her native country is probably far from here,
And her face is strange!
The night weeps by a door!
In the marble hall light upon light burns,
O stuffy, o stuffy! Somebody dies here!
A whisper somewhere: o do you not come?
The night weeps by a door!
A sobbing still: o that he would see the light!
Then it became dark there and here -
A sobbing: brother, o do you not pray?
The night weeps by a door.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Broken Love
MY Spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.
‘A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.
‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow
Wheresoever thou dost go,
Thro’ the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?
’Dost thou not in pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?
‘Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereavèd of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears,
And with cold and shuddering fears.
‘Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.
‘And seven more loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small.
‘When wilt thou return and view
My loves, and them to life renew?
When wilt thou return and live?
When wilt thou pity as I forgive?’
‘O’er my sins thou sit and moan:
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O’er my sins thou sit and weep,
And lull thy own sins fast asleep.
‘What transgressions I commit
Are for thy transgressions fit.
They thy harlots, thou their slave;
And my bed becomes their grave.
‘Never, never, I return:
Still for victory I burn.
Living, thee alone I’ll have;
And when dead I’ll be thy grave.
‘Thro’ the Heaven and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never, quell:
I will fly and thou pursue:
Night and morn the flight renew.’
‘Poor, pale, pitiable form
That I follow in a storm;
Iron tears and groans of lead
Bind around my aching head.
‘Till I turn from Female love
And root up the Infernal Grove,
I shall never worthy be
To step into Eternity.
‘And, to end thy cruel mocks,
Annihilate thee on the rocks,
And another form create
To be subservient to my fate.
‘Let us agree to give up love,
And root up the Infernal Grove;
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity.
‘And throughout all Eternity
I forgive you, you forgive me.
As our dear Redeemer said:
“This the Wine, and this the Bread.”’
poem by William Blake
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My Spectre around me night and day
My Spectre around me night and day
Like a Wild beast guards my way
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my Sin
A Fathomless and boundless deep
There we wander there we weep
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind
He scents thy footsteps in the snow
Wheresoever thou dost go
Thro the wintry hail and rain
When wilt thou return again
Dost thou not in Pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears
Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereaved of their life
Their marble tombs I built with tearst
And with cold and shuddering fears
Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright
And seven more Loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful headt
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small
When wilt thou return and view
My loves and them to life renew
When wilt thou return and live
When wilt thou pity as I forgivet
Never Never I return t
Still for Victory I burn
Living thee alone Ill have
And when dead Ill be thy Grave
Thro the Heavn and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never never quell
I will fly and thou pursue
Night and Morn the flight renew
Till I turn from Female Lovet
And root up the Infernal Grovet
I shall never worthy bet
To Step into Eternity
And to end thy cruel mockst
Annihilate thee on the rockst
And another form create
To be subservient to my Fate
Let us agree to give up Love
And root up the infernal grove
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity
And Throughout all Eternityt
I forgive you you forgive me
As our dear Redeemer said
This the Wine and this the Bread
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love and Sleep
I have laid sorrow to sleep;
Love sleeps.
She who oft made me weep
Now weeps.
I loved, and have forgot,
And yet
Love tells me she will not
Forget.
She it was bid me go;
Love goes
By what strange ways, ah! no
One knows.
Because I cease to weep,
She weeps.
Here by the sea in sleep,
Love sleeps.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Chorus from Hellas
The world`s great age begins anew,
The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake renew
Her winter weeds outworn:
Heaven smiles, and faith and empires gleam,
Like a wrecks of a dissolving dream.
A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
From waves serener far;
A new Peneus rolls his fountains
Against the morning star.
Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.
A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,
And loves, and weeps, and dies.
A new Ulyssses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore...
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Our Last Grand Camping Ground
On a pebly shore, where forevermore
Gently creeps a music laden wave --
In the meadows green, which beyond are seen,
Camps a conq'ring army, true and brave.
Shining are the weapons of this martial throng --
Crimson died their banner, battleworn so long;
But now they cast them down, and each receives a crown,
Whey they chant their never ending song:
"Our Saviour and our King!
His victories shall ring!
His conquests thro' eternity shall sound!
(And war shall be no)
War (more) shall be no more --
we have reach'd the shore --
Safely reach'd our last grand camping ground."
While thro' lovely dells, grander music swells --
Richer chords from rarer harps of gold --
List that soft refrain, that sweet vocal strain,
Wherein now the victors' deeds are told:
How they toil'd in darkness, battling the wrong --
How, in hours of weakness, Jesus made them strong.
Acknowledg'd as his own he seats them on his throne,
While they join the never ending song.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Weep Not For Him That Dieth
I.
WEEP not for him that dieth--
For he sleeps, and is at rest;
And the couch whereon he lieth
Is the green earth's quiet breast:
But weep for him who pineth
On a far land's hateful shore,
Who wearily declineth
Where ye see his face no more!
II.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For friends are round his bed,
And many a young lip sigheth
When they name the early dead;
But weep for him that liveth
Where none will know or care,
When the groan his faint heart giveth
Is the last sigh of despair.
III.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For his struggling soul is free,
And the world from which it flieth
Is a world of misery;
But weep for him that weareth
The captive's galling chain:
To the agony he beareth,
Death were but little pain.
IV.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For he hath ceased from tears,
And a voice to his replieth
Which he hath not heard for years;
But weep for him who weepeth
On that cold land's cruel shore--
Blest, blest is he that sleepeth,--
Weep for the dead no more!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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While My Guitar Gently Weeps
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you.
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
No one alerted you.
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all...
Still my guitar gently weeps.
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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While My Guitar Gently Weeps...
It's hard to tell how many regrets my heart keeps,
After the scars of my heart I see.
Eyes fall short of tears to cry,
While my guitar gently weeps...
When my present turns back and into the past it peeps,
Delightful memories flood in with a sweet pain.
All the anguish comes out through the strings,
While my guitar gently weeps...
As the nostalgia
on my broken heart creeps,
I curse myself for my blunders.
Nobody can ever hear my heart sob,
While my guitar gently weeps...
It is so unfair that the whole world peacefully sleeps,
And has faithful people to care.
But I have nobody to console me,
While my guitar gently weeps...
-SUJAY.S.P
poem by Sujay Patekar
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Tears
THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears ! what are tears ? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing, at her marriage-bell
The bride weeps, and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot
Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only ! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place
And touch but tombs,--look up I those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet 05
Hard by the road, where on that little mound
The high grass rustles to the passing breeze,
The child of Misery rests her head in peace.
Pause there in sadness. That unhallowed ground
Inshrines what once was Isabel. Sleep on
Sleep on, poor Outcast! lovely was thy cheek,
And thy mild eye was eloquent to speak
The soul of Pity. Pale and woe-begone
Soon did thy fair cheek fade, and thine eye weep
The tear of anguish for the babe unborn,
The helpless heir of Poverty and Scorn.
She drank the draught that chill'd her soul to sleep.
I pause and wipe the big drop from mine eye,
Whilst the proud Levite scowls and passes by.
poem by Robert Southey
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While My Guitar Gently Weeps
I look at you all see the love there thats sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I dont know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I dont know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you.
I look at the world and I notice its turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
I dont know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I dont know how you were inverted
No one alerted you.
I look at you all see the love there thats sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all . . .
Still my guitar gently weeps.
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through the Fall of Gentle Rain
While you lay in waiting,
To be set free.
To freely breathe...
Without being instructed.
Your liberties have been limited.
As they thrive in your mental twisted fits.
Who but you weeps,
For the loss of abandoned negligence.
Who else but you keeps,
A doing did too well done alive?
Who other than you,
Can not sleep...
Through the fall of gentle rain,
Dropping to nourish all that grows.
You are the only one that knows...
The deepness felt,
Of a guilt quilted that sits.
Providing not a stitch of comfort.
Who but you weeps,
For the loss of abandoned negligence.
Who else but you keeps,
A doing did too well done alive!
Who other than you,
Can not sleep...
Through the fall of gentle rain,
Dropping to nourish all that grows.
While you lay in waiting,
To be set free...
Your haunting arrives,
To find your clinched fists held...
Onto sorrows snuggled close to soothe,
An anguish that has become a part,
Of invited miseries.
That has become identified with you!
And no one dares or cares to share,
Such unrelenting grief!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Melusine
At my windows the night weeps -
The night is mute, the wind probably weeps,
The wind, like a lost child -
What is it that makes him weep so?
O poor Melusine!
Like fire her hair blows in the storm,
Like fire passing clouds, and laments -
There for you, you poor maiden,
My heart speaks a still night prayer!
O poor Melusine!
poem by Georg Trakl
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Madraykin
(K.J.Garside)
Let not your hold be so tight,
She'll return in the morning,
If you give her the night.
Madraykin is she suffering?
Is she suffering?
Madraykin is she suffering?
Revealing her birthmark you cast out her eye,
Clipped are the wings of the angels sighs,
Revealing her birthmark you put out her tongue,
Clipped are the wings of the fairies who run.
Madraykin is she suffering?
Is she suffering?
Madraykin is she suffering?
How deep does she weep in your well of unkeep,
The kiss of Madraykin will keep you from sleep.
Keep you from sleep,
Keep you from sleep,
Keep you from sleep,
Keep you from sleep.
song performed by by Queen Adreena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song in the Night
I
Born from the shadow of a breath
We wander in abandonment
And are lost in the eternal,
Like victims ignorant wherefore they are consecrated.
Like beggars nothing is our own,
We fools at the locked gate.
As blind people we listen in the silence,
In which our whisper is lost.
We are the wanderers without destinations,
The clouds which the wind blows away,
The flowers shaking in death's coolness,
Which wait, until one mows them down.
II
So that the last torment becomes complete with me,
I do not defend you, you hostile dark powers.
You are the road to great stillness,
Upon which we stride in the coolest nights.
Your breath makes me burn louder,
Patience! The star dies down, the dreams glide
In those realms not named to us,
And which we may only walk along dreamlessly.
III
You dark night, you dark heart,
Who mirrors your holiest ground,
And your malice's last abysses?
The mask stares before our pain -
Before our pain, before our lust
The empty mask's stony laughter,
On it the earthen things broke,
And ourselves not deliberately.
And a strange enemy stands before us,
Who jeers, about which we struggle dying,
So that our songs sound cloudier
And what weeps in us remains dark.
IV
You are the wine that makes drunk,
Now I bleed in sweet dances
And must wreath my suffering with flowers!
So your deepest mind wills, o night!
I am the harp in your womb,
Now your dark song struggles
For the last pains in my heart
And makes me eternal, unreal.
V
Deep rest - o deep rest!
No devout bell rings,
You sweet mother of pain -
Your death-widened peace.
Close all wounds
With your cool, good hands -
So that inward they bleed to death -
Sweet mother of pain - you!
VI
O let my silence be your song!
What should the poor's whisper be to you,
Who is separated from life's gardens?
Let you be nameless in me -
Who is dreamlesslybuilt up in me ,
Like a bell without tone,
Like my pain's sweet bride
And the drunken poppy of my sleepings.
VII
I heard flowers die in the ground
And the wells' drunken lament
And a song from the bell's mouth,
Night, and a whispered question;
And a heart - o death-wound,
Beyond its poor days.
VIII
The darkness extinguished me in silence,
I became a dead shadow in the day -
Then I stepped from the house of joy
Outside in the night.
Now a silence dwells in my heart,
That does not feel the dreary day -
And smiles up to you like thorns,
Night - forever and ever!
IX
O night, you mute gate before my suffering,
See this dark stigmata bleeding to death
And completely inclined the staggering chalice of agony!
O night, I am ready!
O night, you garden of oblivion
Around my poverty's closed-to-the-world shine,
The wine leaves wilt, the wreath of thorns wilts.
O come, you grand time!
X
My demon once laughed,
When I was a light in gleaming gardens,
And play and dance were my companions
And the wine of love, which makes drunk.
My demon once wept,
When I was a light in painful gardens
And humility was my companion,
Whose radiance shines on poverty's house.
However, now my demon neither weeps nor laughs,
I am a shadow of lost gardens
And my death-dark companion is
The silence of the empty midnight.
XI
My poor smile which struggled for you,
My sobbing song faded away in darkness.
Now my path comes to an end.
Let me tread in your cathedral
Like once, a fool, simple minded, devoutly,
And stand adoring mutely before you.
XII
You are in deep midnight
A dead shore at the silent sea,
A dead shore: Never more!
You are in deep midnight.
You are in deep midnight
The heaven in which you glowed as a star,
A heaven from which no more God blossoms.
You are in deep midnight.
You are in deep midnight
An unbegotten in sweet womb,
And never existing, unreal!
You are in deep midnight.
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Sailor, Who Had Served In The Slave Trade.
He stopt,--it surely was a groan
That from the hovel came!
He stopt and listened anxiously
Again it sounds the same.
It surely from the hovel comes!
And now he hastens there,
And thence he hears the name of Christ
Amidst a broken prayer.
He entered in the hovel now,
A sailor there he sees,
His hands were lifted up to Heaven
And he was on his knees.
Nor did the Sailor so intent
His entering footsteps heed,
But now the Lord's prayer said, and now
His half-forgotten creed.
And often on his Saviour call'd
With many a bitter groan,
In such heart-anguish as could spring
From deepest guilt alone.
He ask'd the miserable man
Why he was kneeling there,
And what the crime had been that caus'd
The anguish of his prayer.
Oh I have done a wicked thing!
It haunts me night and day,
And I have sought this lonely place
Here undisturb'd to pray.
I have no place to pray on board
So I came here alone,
That I might freely kneel and pray,
And call on Christ and groan.
If to the main-mast head I go,
The wicked one is there,
From place to place, from rope to rope,
He follows every where.
I shut my eyes,--it matters not--
Still still the same I see,--
And when I lie me down at night
'Tis always day with me.
He follows follows every where,
And every place is Hell!
O God--and I must go with him
In endless fire to dwell.
He follows follows every where,
He's still above--below,
Oh tell me where to fly from him!
Oh tell me where to go!
But tell me, quoth the Stranger then,
What this thy crime hath been,
So haply I may comfort give
To one that grieves for sin.
O I have done a cursed deed
The wretched man replies,
And night and day and every where
'Tis still before my eyes.
I sail'd on board a Guinea-man
And to the slave-coast went;
Would that the sea had swallowed me
When I was innocent!
And we took in our cargo there,
Three hundred negroe slaves,
And we sail'd homeward merrily
Over the ocean waves.
But some were sulky of the slaves
And would not touch their meat,
So therefore we were forced by threats
And blows to make them eat.
One woman sulkier than the rest
Would still refuse her food,--
O Jesus God! I hear her cries--
I see her in her blood!
The Captain made me tie her up
And flog while he stood by,
And then he curs'd me if I staid
My hand to hear her cry.
She groan'd, she shriek'd--I could not spare
For the Captain he stood by--
Dear God! that I might rest one night
From that poor woman's cry!
She twisted from the blows--her blood
Her mangled flesh I see--
And still the Captain would not spare--
Oh he was worse than me!
She could not be more glad than I
When she was taken down,
A blessed minute--'twas the last
That I have ever known!
I did not close my eyes all night,
Thinking what I had done;
I heard her groans and they grew faint
About the rising sun.
She groan'd and groan'd, but her groans grew
Fainter at morning tide,
Fainter and fainter still they came
Till at the noon she died.
They flung her overboard;--poor wretch
She rested from her pain,--
But when--O Christ! O blessed God!
Shall I have rest again!
I saw the sea close over her,
Yet she was still in sight;
I see her twisting every where;
I see her day and night.
Go where I will, do what I can
The wicked one I see--
Dear Christ have mercy on my soul,
O God deliver me!
To morrow I set sail again
Not to the Negroe shore--
Wretch that I am I will at least
Commit that sin no more.
O give me comfort if you can--
Oh tell me where to fly--
And bid me hope, if there be hope,
For one so lost as I.
Poor wretch, the stranger he replied,
Put thou thy trust in heaven,
And call on him for whose dear sake
All sins shall be forgiven.
This night at least is thine, go thou
And seek the house of prayer,
There shalt thou hear the word of God
And he will help thee there!
poem by Robert Southey
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Rock Me To sleep
Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for tonight!
Mother, come back from that echoless shore;
Take me again in your heart as of yore --
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair,
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Backward, turn backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears --
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain --
Take them and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay --
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away --
Weary of sowing for others to reap --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded -- our faces between --
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I tonight for your presence again;
Come from the silence, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old --
Let it drop over my forehead tonight,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light!
For, with its sunny-edged shadows once more,
Haply will throng all the visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother! the years have been long
Since I last listened to your lullaby song;
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream;
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep --
Rock me sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen
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Oh! Breathe Not His Name
Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Limarikoo
Lots of fish in the net,
But the day after, sea weeps...
the waves cry loudly banging the shore!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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