by George Moses Horton

    Alas¹！ and am I born for this，

    To wear this slavish chain？

    Deprived of all created bliss²，

    Through hardship， toil³， and pain！

    How long have I in bondage⁴ lain，

    And languished⁶ to be free！

    Alas！ and must I still complain

    Deprived of liberty.

    Oh， Heaven！ and is there no relief

    This side the silent grave

    To soothe⁸ the pain to quell⁹ the grief

    And anguish⁷ of a slave？

    Come， Liberty， thou cheerful sound，

    Roll through my ravished ears！

    Come， let my grief in joys be drowned，

    And drive away my fears.

    Say unto foul¹⁰ oppression， Cease：

    Ye tyrants¹¹ rage no more，

    And let the joyful¹² trump¹³ of peace，

    Now bid the vassal¹⁴ soar.

    Soar on the pinions¹⁵ of that dove

    Which long has cooed for thee，

    And breathed her notes from Afric's grove¹⁶，

    The sound of Liberty.

    Oh， Liberty！ thou golden prize，

    So often sought by blood

    We crave¹⁷ thy sacred sun to rise，

    The gift of nature's God！

    Bid Slavery hide her haggard face，

    And barbarism fly：

    I scorn to see the sad disgrace

    In which enslaved I lie.

    Dear Liberty！ upon thy breast，

    I languish⁵ to respire；

    And like the Swan upon her nest，

    I'd to thy smiles retire.

    Oh， blest asylum¹⁸ heavenly balm！

    Unto thy boughs¹⁹ I flee

    And in thy shades the storm shall calm，

    With songs of Liberty！

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