Robert Southey

(1774 - 1843 / Bristol / England)

Poems On The Slave Trade - Sonnet Iii - Poem by Robert Southey

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 pityless 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-sweeten'd beverage! thoughts like these
Haply 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.

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Read poems about / on: brother, nature, dark, sun, god, sonnet, thanks, running, sky

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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