Джулия Уорд Хау (Julia Ward Howe)

Slave Eloquence

Why shouldst thou speak? stand, and lift up thy hands,
That bear, before high heaven, a nation's crime,
That touch with fire th' electric chain of truth,
Left darkly rusting in our careless Time.

Stand, with the burthen of thine ancient lot
Poising thy pliant figure, with a smile
That hath a dark and bitter memory in't
Of suffering unavenged—woe worth the while!

Stand, like the prophet's Christ, so grief-possest
That silence shall afflict us more than sound;
Express in marble passion, motionless,
The anguish of the fratricidal wound.

Thy cause needs no appealing—wrongs like thine
Nature makes dumb with greatness—do they crave
The lowliness of Pity? from all hearts
Thou hast it with this thought: here was a Slave.

Nay, speak, thou shadowy Image! thou art fain
To ease the throbbing fulness of thy heart,
From lips that, not ungraciously, essay
The white man's language, not the white man's art.

Thou wilt not stoop to curses impotent
And wild—such weakness is not for the free—
With modest gesture and with manly phrase
Make clear thy right—adorn thy liberty!

Nor turn to tear thy tyrants—thou hast learned
A lesson holier than wrath or hate;
Since the borne sorrow leaves a bosom-rift
Where gentle Charity may penetrate.

Thy speech doth to the stronger race aver
Some deathless favors—Shakspeare's thought and rhyme,
The knitted bond and logic of the law,
And Jesu's words, the treasure of all time.

Speaking, he kept the measure of our wish.
But we had deemed him eloquent, unheard,
For, looking on the wronged and rescued man,
His presence pleaded stronger than his word.