No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms.
The Slave’s Complaint
Am I sadly cast aside,
On misfortune’s rugged tide?
Will the world my pains deride
Must I dwell in Slavery’s night,
And all pleasure take its flight,
Far beyond my feeble sight,
Worst of all, must Hope grow dim,
And withhold her cheering beam?
Rather let me sleep and dream
Something still my heart surveys,
Groping through this dreary maze;
Is it Hope? – then burn and blaze
Leave me not a wretch confined,
Altogether lame and blind –
Unto gross despair consigned,
Heaven! in whom can I confide?
Canst thou not for all provide?
Condescend to be my guide
And when this transient life shall end,
Oh, may some kind eternal friend
Bid me from servitude ascend,
The Slave Mother
Heard you that shriek?
It rose So wildly on the air,
It seemed as if a burden’d heart
Was breaking in despair.
Saw you those hands so sadly clasped –
The bowed and feeble hand –
The shuddering of that fragile form –
That look of grief and dread?
Saw you the sad, imploring eye?
Its every glance was pain,
As if a storm of agony
Were sweeping through the brain.
She is a mother, pale with fear,
Her boy clings to her side,
And in her kirtle vainly tries
His trembling form to hide.
He is not hers, although she bore
For him a mother’s pains;
He is not hers, although her blood
Is coursing through his veins!
He is not hers, for cruel hands
May rudely tear apart
The only wreath of household love
That binds her breaking heart.
His love has been a joyous light
That o’er her pathway smiled,
A fountain gushing ever new,
Amid life’s desert wild.
His lightest word has been a tone
Of music round her heart,
Their lives a streamlet blent in one –
Oh, Father! must they part?
They tear him from her circling arms,
Her last and fond embrace.
Oh! never more may her sad eyes
Gaze on his mournful face.
No marvel, then, these bitter shrieks
Disturb the listening air;
She is a mother, and her heart
Is breaking in despair.