The Freed Islands

A few brief years have passed away     Since Britain drove her million slaves     Beneath the tropic's fiery ray:     God willed their freedom; and to-day     Life blooms above those island graves!     He spoke! across the Carib Sea,     We heard the clash of breaking chains,     And felt the heart-throb of the free,     The first, strong pulse of liberty     Which thrilled along the bondman's veins.     Though long delayed, and far, and slow,     The Briton's triumph shall be ours:     Wears slavery here a prouder brow     Than that which twelve short years ago     Scowled darkly from her island bowers?     Mighty alike for good or ill     With mother-land, we fully share     The Saxon strength, the nerve of steel,     The tireless energy of will,     The power to do, the pride to dare.     What she has done can we not do?     Our hour and men are both at hand;     The blast which Freedom's angel blew     O'er her green islands, echoes through     Each valley of our forest land.     Hear it, old Europe! we have sworn     The death of slavery. When it falls,     Look to your vassals in their turn,     Your poor dumb millions, crushed and worn,     Your prisons and your palace walls!     O kingly mockers! scoffing show     What deeds in Freedom's name we do;     Yet know that every taunt ye throw     Across the waters, goads our slow     Progression towards the right and true.     Not always shall your outraged poor,     Appalled by democratic crime,     Grind as their fathers ground before;     The hour which sees our prison door     Swing wide shall be their triumph time.     On then, my brothers! every blow     Ye deal is felt the wide earth through;     Whatever here uplifts the low     Or humbles Freedom's hateful foe,     Blesses the Old World through the New.     Take heart! The promised hour draws near;     I hear the downward beat of wings,     And Freedom's trumpet sounding clear:     "Joy to the people! woe and fear     To new-world tyrants, old-world kings!