Alas! and am I born for this, To wear this slavish chain? Deprived of all created bliss, Through hardship, toil, and pain! How long have I in bondage lain, And languished to be free! Alas! and must I still complain— Deprived of liberty. Oh, Heaven! and is there no relief This side the silent grave— To soothe the pain—to quell the grief And anguish of a slave? Come, Liberty, thou cheerful sound, Roll through my ravished ears! Come, let my grief in joys be drowned, And drive away my fears. Say unto foul oppression, "Cease: Ye tyrants, rage no more," And let the joyful trump of peace Now bid the vassal soar. Soar on the pinions of that dove Which long has cooed for thee, And breathed her notes from Afric's grove, The sound of Liberty. Oh, Liberty! thou golden prize, So often sought by blood— We crave thy sacred sun to rise, The gift of nature's God! Bid Slavery hide her haggard face, And barbarism fly: I scorn to see the sad disgrace In which enslaved I lie. Dear Liberty! upon thy breast, I languish to respire; And like the Swan upon her nest, I'd to thy smiles retire. Oh, blest asylum—heavenly balm! Unto thy boughs I flee— And in thy shades the storm shall calm, With songs of Liberty!
Horton, enslaved in North Carolina, wields poetry as protest. Each stanza alternates lament and hope, asking how long bondage must last while summoning Liberty as a living presence. The exclamation "Alas!" echoes through the poem, underscoring the depth of suffering.
Yet Horton refuses despair. He imagines liberty as a dove that has long cooed from Africa, calling its children home. The poem blends Christian imagery with revolutionary fervor, insisting that freedom is both divine gift and human right.
By ending with an image of refuge—storms calmed beneath Liberty's boughs—Horton offers a vision of rest earned through struggle. The poem invites readers to hear the urgency of abolition through the voice of someone who felt the chains firsthand.
Interpretation generated with assistance from Claude.