This poem was written by John Greenleaf Whittier
| “ALL ready?” cried the captain; | |
| “Ay, ay!” the seamen said; | |
| “Heave up the worthless lubbers,— | |
| The dying and the dead.” | |
| Up from the slave-ship’s prison | 5 |
| Fierce, bearded heads were thrust: | |
| “Now let the sharks look to it,— | |
| Toss up the dead ones first!” | |
| Corpse after corpse came up,— | |
| Death had been busy there; | 10 |
| Where every blow is mercy, | |
| Why should the spoiler spare? | |
| Corpse after corpse they cast | |
| Sullenly from the ship, | |
| Yet bloody with the traces | 15 |
| Of fetter-link and whip. | |
| Gloomily stood the captain, | |
| With his arms upon his breast, | |
| With his cold brow sternly knotted, | |
| And his iron lip compressed. | 20 |
| “Are all the dead dogs over?” | |
| Growled through that matted lip; | |
| “The blind ones are no better, | |
| Let ’s lighten the good ship.” | |
| Hark! from the ship’s dark bosom, | 25 |
| The very sounds of hell! | |
| The ringing clank of iron, | |
| The maniac’s short, sharp yell! | |
| The hoarse, low curse, throat-stifled; | |
| The starving infant’s moan, | 30 |
| The horror of a breaking heart | |
| Poured through a mother’s groan. | |
| Up from that loathsome prison | |
| The stricken blind ones came: | |
| Below, had all been darkness, | 35 |
| Above, was still the same. | |
| Yet the holy breath of heaven | |
| Was sweetly breathing there, | |
| And the heated brow of fever | |
| Cooled in the soft sea air. | 40 |
| “Overboard with them, shipmates!” | |
| Cutlass and dirk were plied; | |
| Fettered and blind, one after one, | |
| Plunged down the vessel’s side. | |
| The sabre smote above, | 45 |
| Beneath, the lean shark lay, | |
| Waiting with wide and bloody jaw | |
| His quick and human prey. | |
| God of the earth! what cries | |
| Rang upward unto thee? | 50 |
| Voices of agony and blood, | |
| From ship-deck and from sea. | |
| The last dull plunge was heard, | |
| The last wave caught its stain, | |
| And the unsated shark looked up | 55 |
| For human hearts in vain.
* * * * *
| |
| Red glowed the western waters, | |
| The setting sun was there, | |
| Scattering alike on wave and cloud | |
| His fiery mesh of hair. | 60 |
| Amidst a group in blindness, | |
| A solitary eye | |
| Gazed, from the burdened slaver’s deck, | |
| Into that burning sky. | |
| “A storm,” spoke out the gazer, | 65 |
| “Is gathering and at hand; | |
| Curse on ’t, I ’d give my other eye | |
| For one firm rood of land.” | |
| And then he laughed, but only | |
| His echoed laugh replied, | 70 |
| For the blinded and the suffering | |
| Alone were at his side. | |
| Night settled on the waters, | |
| And on a stormy heaven, | |
| While fiercely on that lone ship’s track | 75 |
| The thunder-gust was driven. | |
| “A sail!—thank God, a sail!” | |
| And as the helmsman spoke, | |
| Up through the stormy murmur | |
| A shout of gladness broke. | 80 |
| Down came the stranger vessel, | |
| Unheeding on her way, | |
| So near that on the slaver’s deck | |
| Fell off her driven spray. | |
| “Ho! for the love of mercy, | 85 |
| We ’re perishing and blind!” | |
| A wail of utter agony | |
| Came back upon the wind: | |
| “Help us! for we are stricken | |
| With blindness every one; | 90 |
| Ten days we ’ve floated fearfully, | |
| Unnoting star or sun. | |
| Our ship ’s the slaver Leon,— | |
| We ’ve but a score on board; | |
| Our slaves are all gone over,— | 95 |
| Help, for the love of God!” | |
| On livid brows of agony | |
| The broad red lightning shone; | |
| But the roar of wind and thunder | |
| Stifled the answering groan; | 100 |
| Wailed from the broken waters | |
| A last despairing cry, | |
| As, kindling in the stormy light, | |
| The stranger ship went by.
* * * * *
| |
| In the sunny Guadaloupe | 105 |
| A dark-hulled vessel lay, | |
| With a crew who noted never | |
| The nightfall or the day. | |
| The blossom of the orange | |
| Was white by every stream, | 110 |
| And tropic leaf, and flower, and bird | |
| Were in the warm sunbeam. | |
| And the sky was bright as ever, | |
| And the moonlight slept as well, | |
| On the palm-trees by the hillside, | 115 |
| And the streamlet of the dell: | |
| And the glances of the Creole | |
| Were still as archly deep, | |
| And her smiles as full as ever | |
| Of passion and of sleep. | 120 |
| But vain were bird and blossom, | |
| The green earth and the sky, | |
| And the smile of human faces, | |
| To the slaver’s darkened eye; | |
| At the breaking of the morning, | 125 |
| At the star-lit evening time, | |
| O’er a world of light and beauty | |
| Fell the blackness of his crime. |
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