Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run Down his dark cheek; hold -- hold thy merciless hand, Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command O'erwearied Nature sinks. The scorching sun, As pitiless as proud prosperity, Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies Arraigning with his looks the patient skies, While that inhuman trader lifts on high The mangling scourge. Oh ye who at your ease Sip the blood-sweetened beverage! thoughts like these Hap'ly ye scorn: I thank thee Gracious God! That I do feel upon my cheek the glow Of indignation, when beneath the rod A sable brother writhes in silent woe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON DRINKING IN A BOWL by ANACREON THE PATRIOT; AN OLD STORY by ROBERT BROWNING ON A FLOWER FROM THE FIELD OF GRUTLI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE SIGN OF THE CROSS by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN VARIUM ET MUTABILE by THOMAS WYATT |