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Robert Anderson (Роберт Андерсон) The Slave Torn from every dear connection, Forc'd across the yielding wave, The Negro, stung by keen reflection, May exclaim, Man's but a Slave! In youth, gay Hope delusive fools him, Proud her vot'ry to deprave; In age, self--interest over--rules him-- Still he bends a willing Slave. The haughty monarch, fearing Reason May her sons from ruin save, Of traitors dreaming, plots and treason, Reigns at best a sceptr'd Slave. His minion, Honesty would barter, And become Corruption's knave; Won by ribband, star, or garter, Proves himself Ambition's Slave. Yon Patriot boasts a pure intention, And of rights will loudly rave, Till silenc'd by a place or pension, Th'apostate sits a courtly Slave. In pulpit perch'd, the pious preacher Talks of conscience wond'rous grave; Yet not content, the tithe--paid teacher Pants to loll a mitr'd Slave. The soldier, lur'd by sounds of glory, Longs to shine a hero brave; And, proud to live in future story, Yields his life--to Fame a Slave. Mark yon poor miser o'er his treasure, Who to Want a mite ne'er gave; He, shut out from peace and pleasure, Starves--to Avarice a Slave. The lover to his mistress bending, Pants, nor dares her hand to crave; Vainly sighing, time misspending-- Wisdom scorns the fetter'd Slave. Thus dup'd by Fancy, Pride, or Folly, Ne'er content with what we have; Toss'd 'twixt Hope and Melancholy, Death at last sets free the Slave. Robert Anderson's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1518 |
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