The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[14]
     Brief was the silence. Once again
Pealed to the skies that frantic yell,
     Glowed on the heavens a fiery stain,
And flashes rose and fell;
     And painted on the blood-red sky,
Dark, naked arms were tossed on high;
     And, round the white man's lordly hall,
Trod, fierce and free, the brute he made;
     And those who crept along the wall,
And answered to his lightest call
     With more than spaniel dread,
The creatures of his lawless beck,
     Were trampling on his very neck!
And on the night-air, wild and clear,
     Rose woman's shriek of more than fear;
For bloodied arms were round her thrown,
     And dark cheeks pressed against her own!

Then, injured Afric! for the shame
     Of thy own daughters, vengeance came
Full on the scornful hearts of those,
     Who mocked thee in thy nameless woes,
And to thy hapless children gave
     One choice,—pollution or the grave!

Where then was he whose fiery zeal
     Had taught the trampled heart to feel,
Until despair itself grew strong,
     And vengeance fed its torch from wrong?
Now, when the thunderbolt is speeding;
     Now, when oppression's heart is bleeding;
Now, when the latent curse of Time
     Is raining down in fire and blood,
That curse which, through long years of crime,