Slavery

Slavery

O, Slavery! thou art a bitter draught,

And twice accursed is thy poisoned bowl.

Which taints with leprosy the white man's soul,

Not less than his by whom its dregs are quaffed.

The slave sinks down, o'ercome by cruel craft,

Like beast of burden on the earth to roll;

The master, though in luxury's lap he loll,

Feels the foul venom, like a rankling shaft,
Stirke through his veins. As if a demon laughed,

He, laughing, treads his victim in the dust,

The victim of his avarice, rage, or lust;

But the poor captive's moan the whirlwinds waft

To Heaven—not unavenged. The oppressor quakes

With secret dread, and shares the hell he makes.

Thomas Pringle

1;35, p. 1

3.17.1860