Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PROGRESSION; OR, THE SOUTH DEFENDED: SLAVERY, by MARY SOPHIE SHAW HOMES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PROGRESSION; OR, THE SOUTH DEFENDED: SLAVERY, by                    
First Line: The book of books we confidently quote
Last Line: Gainst wild fanaticism's fickle laws.
Alternate Author Name(s): Mayfield, Millie
Subject(s): American Civil War; Bible; Cruelty; Slavery; Southern States; United States - History; Serfs; South (u.s.)


The Book of books we confidently quote
In reference to the past, doth plainly note
The fact, that slavery existed when
Good Noah (he who found above all men,
Grace in the eyes of God) dwelt in the land
Deluged, 'tis said, by the Divine command;
For in the malediction breathed upon
His younger and his most irreverent son,
These words he used: "Accursed shall Canaan be,
A servant's servant ever shall be he
Unto his brethren," -- and by this, 't is shown,
That servitude 'mong men is fairly known
To have existed ere the floods of heaven
Poured forth, we're told, upon an unforgiven,
Corrupt, and wicked generation; for,
'Twas shortly after that fierce watery war
Was said to have been waged, that Ham provoked
His parent's ire, who vengeance dire invoked
On him and all his progeny -- and hence
We've ground for the belief, that Slavery thence
Has progressed 'mong the nations of the earth,
And claims this far-removed and ancient birth.
Nimrod's the first that dealt in slaves, that we
Can trace such dealings to. We're told, that he
Became a mighty one upon the earth --
"A mighty hunter before the Lord!" Now, worth
Is given by commentators, to this clause,
Proportionate to all translations' flaws --
They give the literal meaning thus: "Of men
A mighty hunter he became;" for then,
By Scripture it appears, his conquests were
Immense, the territories of Ashur
Invaded were by him -- he seized upon
That far-famed city, Ancient Babylon,
And made it what it was, the capital
Of the first kingdom in the world! And shall
We err in saying, that the captives ta'en
In war by him, were forced to remain
Bond-servants to the conqueror!
And 't is seen
'Twas so -- for seventy years scarce rolled between
The death of Nimrod and good Abraham's birth,
Yet in that Patriarch's age there was no dearth
Of servitude -- in his own house were born
Three hundred and eighteen slaves; and on that morn
When Siddam's vale rang with the din of war,
And battle's issues, on the "Four Kings'" car
Of triumph, captive placed his brother's son --
He armed his "trained servants," every one,
Pursued the conquerors unto Dan -- by night
Smote them, and still pursued to Hobah quite,
Nor ceased till he'd recaptured all the spoil
(He and his servants) of the bloody toil,
And brought back women, goods, and people, too,
To Sodom's king -- who generously, in view
To reward him, said: "The persons give to me,
And take the goods to thyself." By this, we see
That each one thought the conqueror had a right
To hold as slaves all captives ta'en in fight.
And many other scriptural texts will show
How valued then all bondsmen were; for so,
The sacred writer Abraham's wealth describes --
He says, that he had of men-servants, tribes,
And sheep and oxen, and he-asses, and
Maid-servants, and she-asses, to command;
And camels. Such was also Jacob's dower,
And Isaac's estimated wealth and power.
That Slavery was authorized by law
Among the Israelites, we find no flaw
In Holy Writ to contradict; we see
There, also, how all servants were to be
Treated. First: They were to be bought alone
Of heathen -- for, if a poor Jew was known
To sell himself either for food, or debt,
The limits of his servitude were set
To expire upon the year of Jubilee,
If after six years' bondage he would be
Considered still a servant -- then, to show
That from this service he declined to go,
The master, with an awl, bored fast his ear
To the door-post, to show that he would here
Remain a slave till jubilee's blest year.
But slaves for life, those bought and sold again,
Or which as fixed inheritance remain
In families forever, were of those
Taken in war, the heathen, strangers, foes.
Says Moses: "Both thy bondmen and bondmaids
Shall be of the heathen." And he further adds:
"And ye shall take them as inheritance
For your children after you." And if (as chance
Might be), a master beat a slave to death,
He was not doomed by the unswerving breath
Of justice stern, to pay the penalty
Such crime exacts from high and low degree
In human courts to-day -- but simply was
Punished proportionate unto the cause,
As this was deemed sufficient. Such was then
The power that man held o'er his fellows, men.
Ah! happy we to have outlived the time,
And reached the borders of a milder clime,
Where mercy and compassion's wreaths entwine,
And justice and humanity combine
To lighten fetters forged by direst need,
Pour balm on wounds destined so long to bleed,
Till bondage sweet sympathy made light,
Sees not its shackles, unless thrust in sight
By self-styled friends! who rattle loud the chains,
And the poor victim writhes 'neath fancied pains;
The while these wolves clothed in their sheepskin garbs,
Sink deep their fangs, their sharp and poisoned barbs,
Which with their victim's life-blood mingles, and
The tares of discontent on every hand
Spring up, and choke the better fruit whose bloom
Was lighting the dark passage to the tomb,
Till these rank weeds o'erspread the kindly soil
And crushed the produce of a better toil;
Planting a bitter enmity 'twixt those --
Master and slave -- who never should be foes;
Tightening the latter's bonds and locking up
The former's sympathies. And this, the cup
Of bitterness, these meddlers mix for those
Poor idiots, who know not friends from foes!
Ah well! there is a proverb old, doth say
That mighty "Rome was not built in a day."
And let us hope these bigots yet will see
How false the path they've chosen. If to free
The Negro is their only end and aim --
And such the generous purpose they would claim --
We'll trust to time's all-powerful, potent test,
To prove their error, leaving God the rest!
How laws unceasing will work out their end,
However men may strive or fools contend;
And when they cry, "A lion's at the door,"
Before we fly we'll wait to hear him roar,
Nor conjure beat [sic] with longer ears to be
The king at whose loud voice all creatures flee;
And go unflinching on our path, with faith
That sober second thought will lay the wraith
Of troubled Abolitionism low --
That wandering spirit with perturbed brow!
Now turn we to that land by classic song
And Homer's verse, immortal made among
The lands of earth! We find, that Slavery there,
Despite its orators and heroes fair,
Existed, and atrocities most foul
Were perpetrated; while the victim's howl
Of anguish, music was most sweet to hear,
To the ferocious conqueror's bestial ear.
Such were the habits of the Greeks of old.
And even in Alexander's time, we're told,
That when he had rased [sic] Thebes, he seized and sold
Men, women, children, all for slaves. But still,
The Spartans were most cruel -- for with skill
They trained the Lacedemonian youth
To practice all achievements void of truth,
Purposely to deceive and butcher those
Poor captives seized as slaves from out their foes.
And this was but to show their progress in
The strategems of massacre, and win
A base applause for deeds of wantonness
'Gainst those who had no means of just redress.
Even Rome, imperial city of the East!
Could boast but little over these -- at least
Till Christianity's mild rays shed holier light
To turn brute force and question wrong and right.
For the blood-stained arena's gory flow,
The dark, inhuman, gladiatorial show;
The stiffened corpse dragged thro' the circus' round
(First scourged to death the slave was, and then bound
In his hand a fork in gibbet form); the dread
And brutal Vedius Pollio's conduct; still must shed
A nameless horror o'er those barbarous times
And cause us bless the ring of happier chimes.
In Sicily, during the commonwealth,
Masters, to keep their slaves from march of stealth,
Branded their foreheads with an iron hot;
And one slaveholder (Damophilus), not
Content with this security, shut fast
His slaves at night in prisons close, then pass'd
Them out like beasts to daily work at morn.
Thank Heaven, we now can hail a brighter dawn,
Tho' fleecy clouds may hang upon its brow,
Their silver edges tell how bright the glow
Behind them -- a radiance which shall pierce
The farthest limits of the universe,
When rolling time shall reach the point at last
Where misty doubts, into Faith's ocean cast,
Resolve themselves to pearls of truth and love,
To gleam and scintillate in courts above!
A milder form of Slavery prevailed
Among the ancient Germans. This assailed
Not wantonly its subjects, nor imposed
Undue exactions; slaves were not exposed
To cruel treatment. Attached to the soil,
And working and improving it their toil,
With tending cattle, they could neither be
Made articles of commerce nor yet free.
The only ones that could be bought and sold,
Were freemen who had lost themselves for gold;
For it was no uncommon thing to see
An ardent gamester stake his liberty
Upon a dice's turn; the victor then
Could sell his property to other men.
But the condition of the slave still seems
To have been much better than the savage gleams
Thrown from the annals of the polished Greeks
And Romans.
Then, by one of those strange freaks
Of retrogression, which sometimes exist
'Mong nations of this "island in the mist;"
The Anglo-Saxons seem not to have been
So honorable in this traffic as we've seen
Were their Teutonic forefathers. As when
Alfred (he, surnamed "the Great") pass'd 'mong men
A law forbidding purchase of a man,
A horse, an ox, without a voucher: can
We doubt, the statute was but to prevent
The stealing of such property? This bent
Must have prevailed to have called forth the law.
And, to apply an almost worn-out "saw:"
"'T is a poor rule that will not work both ways,"
Men must have been property in those days,
Otherwise, why steal them?
A species too
Of slavery, alike to that which thro'
The German States held sway, existed in
The Kingdom of Great Britain, till within
The last three centuries. And this is seen
From a commission issued by the Queen,
The famous Queen Elizabeth of yore,
In fifteen hundred and seventy-four,
Inquiring 'bout the lands and goods of all
Her bondmen and bondwomen in Cornwall,
Devon, Somerset, and Gloucester,
In order that they might compound with her
For manumission, and enjoy their lands
And goods as freemen. So, the matter stands
Till now. A work of later years has been
To free the Colliers, Salters -- who were seen
To have endured a wretched serfdom, worse
Than negro-slavery's much quoted curse.
Doomed in dark mines, to wear life's threads away,
Robbed of God's precious gift, the light of day!
And even their wretched children born to share
The curse, which shut them from sunshine and air,
Till little better than the grub, they crept
Thro' their dark holes in mother earth, or slept
A sort of waking sleep -- for intellect,
Crushed by the nightmare, darkness, can't reflect
The hues prismatic which life-giving light
Calls forth victorious o'er the brooding night,
And in an apathetic torpor run
Their race, destined to end where it begun!
So far, so good; and England acted well
In freeing those poor wretches doomed to dwell
In earth's dark bowels -- for, of the same race
These sons of toil held with her equal place
In human grade -- but stepped she not too far
In leaving her West India door ajar,
And vesting savages with powers and rights,
To equal sway with more enlightened Whites?
And what's the result, this vaunted labor free
Has brought her? Where once there used to be
Most ample stores of tropical produce,
The soil, from dire neglect and rank misuse,
Scarce yields supplies for home consumption -- while
Fair Cuba's sugar-fields prolific smile;
Her green tobacco waves in fragrance sweet,
And fills the holds of many a noble fleet.
And why? Because right management and toil
Bring out the richness of the generous soil --
The White man's intellect, the Negro's strength,
Are brought to bear, and harvest comes at length.
But, as the Negro will not work unless
Compelled why lay such monstrous, direful stress
Upon his slavery, which brings to him
Comforts he'd never have the will to win
If left to himself? This, England knows full well,
And free Jamaica's sterile fields now tell,
The world would suffer for supplies of those
Commodities, on which it vainly throws
The obloquy of "slavery's products;" while
The want of them would hardly cause a smile,
If on "free labor" we'd depend, to give
These necessaries by which millions live.
For White men can not stand a tropic sun,
And Blacks, by nature fitted for it, won
Can never be by hire to do more work
Than will keep off starvation; they will shirk
(To use a Yankee phrase) all that they can,
Are naturally lazy to a man.
Why is it sinful, then, to take them from
The barbarous wilds of Afric [sic], where they roam
But little else than brutes -- and give them homes,
And turn to men these dark ungainly gnomes?
Will any other means ere [sic] civilize
These savages, beneath our Christian skies?
Or, setting that aside -- must these fair lands
Remain as deserts 'neath our helpless hands,
When means are known on earth, if well employed,
To cause them yield what we've so long enjoyed?
Nor only us -- the workers have their share;
Well fed, well clad, and taught both praise and prayer --
Saved from the darker horrors that await
Less fortunate companions in a state
Of barbarism still in their own land,
Stamped as it's always been with savage brand,
And made their being's aim to understand.
That Africa at any time was free
From the most horrid forms of slavery,
All history forbids us to suppose.
There, tribe 'gainst tribe, arrayed as mortal foes,
Enslave each other. 'Mong the ancient race
As far back as we've records left to trace,
Even to the era of the Trojan war,
We find Phoenicia trading with Lybia [sic] for
Her slaves; and Carthage, which was known to be
No more than a Phoenician colony,
Following the customs of its parent state,
Still carried on the traffic with the great
Interior tribes of that wild, desert land,
Where burning sunbeams flow o'er parched sand,
And the tall palm-tree with its high plumed head,
Scarce deigns a strip of grateful shade to shed;
But miles of sterile, unproductive land
Stretch far and wide around on every hand,
With only here and there a little dot
Of verdure, a grass-grown and welcome spot
That marks a water-course; and which the cry
Of thirsty camel tells, ere man can spy,
That 'tis the blest oasis which they near
To yield their worn-out strength its grateful cheer.
And still in modern times her sons are seen
Subjected unto bondage. They had been
Made slaves of by the nations of the earth
Of European slavery of the race.
'Tis proved beyond a doubt, that we can trace
A trade in slaves to have been carried on
By Arabs wild, previous to this, upon
The coast of Guinea -- e'en some hundred years
Before the incursive Portuguese appears
Upon the western coast, or e'er had seen
A woolly-headed Negro. 'Twas between
The war of the Crusaders in the year
Eleven hundred (when it doth appear
That Europeans first obtained a sight
Of Africans, which caused their army quite
A burst of merriment), and that fierce time --
Some cycles back in rolling centuries' chime --
When Nubia's king, sore harassed by the host
Of bold Egyptian Arabs, who did boast
Mohammed as their God, agreed to send
By way of tribute -- and also, to tend
Toward lessening these annoyances -- a vast
Number of Nubian slaves to Egypt. Fast
To this covenant held, each year was he
Then forced to drain on neighboring bands; we see,
He bought the Blacks of Guinea, whom he paid
In tribute to the Calif -- thus the trade
May have been said to have commenced abroad,
Tho' long prevailing 'mong each native horde
In the interior.
That this was so,
To prove, we need no farther backward go
Than the last century. The Dahomans,
One of the wild interior's warlike clans,
Had never seen a White man till the year
Seventeen hundred and twenty-seven; and here,
Their prince and army met some travelers
In Sabi, and were so shocked, it appears,
At their complexion and their dress, they were
Afraid to approach them, and were heard demur
As to their being men until they spoke;
Then satisfied that it was not a joke,
They yet were much astonished when informed
That these were buyers of the slaves that swarmed
For purchasers upon the Guinea coast.
Yet these Dahomans, most inhuman, boast
Such horrid cruelties to such poor slaves
As chance they hold, that a wretch freely braves
The unknown good that may in foreign chains
Be found, to native bondage with its stains
Of cannibalism, its most monstrous rites,
Unholy usages and shocking sights!
Such is, we find, the present state of things
In Africa; and this conviction brings
Us to the inquiry: Where will we see
In the world's annals, a community
Composed of Negroes, that have ever been
So well off as our slaves? Better ('tis seen
By the distress and want that wide prevailed
In late disastrous times, and fierce assailed
The working classes of the North) by far,
Is their condition, than nine-tenths that are
Compelled to earn their all by labor free;
For, let a "panic" stop the wheels, and see,
The poor man is the sufferer; no right
Has he to "daily bread," unless his mite
Of work is added to the general stock.
And, as "retrenchment" bids the master lock
His coffers, and reduce his working hands,
Minus employment, the poor laborer stands
But little chance of shutting his slight door
On wolf-like hunger's fierce and maddening roar.
Not so our well-fed Negroes. Housed and warm,
They, unconcerned, abide the wildest storm
That shakes the base of the commercial world,
Nor heed the rudest tempest ever hurled
From speculation's giddy hights [sic]. For them
Decline of stocks no terror has; they stem
The tide of life, sure of a hand to save
From every 'whelming billow and each wave
Of want that o'er the working White man rolls.
Their bodily requirements met -- their souls,
Exhumed from the foul rubbish and neglect
Of savage ignorance, can full reflect
The beams of Christianity's bright sun;
Showing how well the work that was begun
Long years ago for their advancement, is
Progressing to its end of future bliss!
"O Shame! where is thy blush," that in such cause
Wild fanatics should, 'spite their country's laws,
And in the face of verdict just, see flaws
To cavil at? Such men would, doubtless, see
Motes in the eyes of Truth? A class, a flea
Would choke, but who, without grimace or gag,
Can swallow camels whole! For loud they brag
Of tireless efforts in behalf of those
Who're well protected from privation's woes,
While brothers round them starve for want of work,
And sisters, under master fierce as Turk,
Stitch, for a pittance, their life-threads away,
Yet mourn they for the slave, more blest than they,
Who, free from care, with childlike confidence
Looks for protection, comfort (competence,
Compared to those poor creatures' ill supplies),
To him who seldom want or wish denies.
For the "good servant" knows his lord will yield
Increase to him whose talent in the field
Lies buried not -- the laborer will find
He's worthy of his hire; and master kind
Supplies the mental force that can direct
The Negro's muscle. Thus, our land is decked
With the rich crops by which we want defy,
And White and Black have plentiful supply.

* * *

That slavery of the African will last
While Cotton's King, analogy must cast
The crowning vote to; for have we not seen
All things on earth subservient have been
To human needs, by wise, Almighty plan?
God's laws assisting the advance of man
Along the steep hill of progression. See
How useful by this means the Black can be
Toward beautifying and adorning this
Fair earthly temple, to the praise of His
Omniscient name, the Architect supreme
Of the whole universe! who deigns a gleam
Of radiance to cast o'er savage man,
To rescue him from barbarism's ban,
And place him where his attributes will show
To best advantage, where his part below
He may act out, and thus assist the whole
Great human mass, whose bulk will ceaseless roll,
Till grain by grain it loses all its dross,
And rarifying with supernal gloss
'Twill shine, the embodiment of truth and love,
And fitted for a higher march above
Dull matter -- 'twill, expanding, soar away,
To realms of glowing light and endless day!

* * *

What
But sheer infatuation, e'er could plot
So wild a scheme as it would prove to be,
If e'er effected, all our Blacks to free?
Why, such a gang of paupers, or, still worse,
Of thieves and villains, would our country curse,
That even Europe's gipsy hordes could not
Compare with; for the Negro is a sot
Of beastial [sic] description, and when free
Spends most his time in low debauchery.
And this the population that would spread,
In vagrant swarms, and in their vileness, shed
A merited opprobrium on the head
That first conceived the wondrous plan that set
The ball in motion!

* * *

My pen indites
These truths, not that I would decry the North --
I state but simple facts for what they're worth --
For all this land my country is, and wrong
Or right, is still MY NATIVE LAND! O! strong
The ties forged by those magic words, to bind
The human heart, to link it to its kind;
And dastard he who'd seek to set a stain
Upon the sod that gave him birth, or gain
A doubtful reputation at the shrine
That immolates all that is most divine
Or sacred held by man! Not this, not this
The paltry motive whose base prompting is
The lever which calls forth what I indite;
But when a people willfully invite
Contention, as the Northern mass has done
By heaping slanders and abuse upon
That section of our land known as "The South,"
And using for this means the ready mouth
Of pulpit, press, and rostrum, to create
A furore false 'gainst each slaveholding State --
It is but natural that this should cause
Some refutation of our outraged laws
To be attempted; tho' the arm that wields
The defensive armor, boasts not manhood's shields
Of confidence and liberty of speech;
Yet once, a little child was brought to teach
Wise men, and sat down in their midst!
And 'tis this simple thought aroused, that bids
Me lift my feeble voice to quell the storm,
And call on God to aid the motive warm
And sincere, that from my heart of hearts
Leaps into words, and its own strength imparts
To what my pen, without that motive true,
Could never fashion or do justice to.

* * *

Come with me, one and all, unto this land
I'll lead you gently, with a loving hand,
And point out all its beauties, if I can,
Until, for very shame, you'll to a man
Exclaim: "Is this the people, these the laws
We've sought to crush? O! surely, we must pause
In our mad judgment of an upright cause
That wide disseminates its blessings, and
With peace and plenty crowns a happy land,
Where each the station holds by Providence
Assigned him -- and where broad diverging thence
The bounteous streams of industry glide on
To beautify our common country."
Gone
Will be all prejudice, if with the eye
Of truth you seek our merits to descry,
And, with the tongue of probity, send forth
Your firm convictions for just what they're worth,
When you have fairly weighed us and our cause
'Gainst wild fanaticism's fickle laws.





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