  Mr. James Horton, of Chatham County, North Carolina, had a slave named George, who early manifested remarkable intelligence. He labored with a few other slaves on his master's farm, and was always honest, faithful, and industrious. He contrived to learn to read, and every moment that was allowed him for his own he devoted to reading. He was especially fond of poetry, which he read and learned by heart, wherever he could find it. After a time, he began to compose verses of his own. He did not know how to write; so when he had arranged his thoughts in rhyme, he spoke them aloud to others, who wrote them down for him. He was not contented in Slavery, as you will see by the following verses which he wrote:— "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? "O 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. "O 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 unto her nest, I'd to thy smiles retire." George's poems attracted attention, and several were published in the newspaper called "The Raleigh Register." Some of them found their way into the Boston newspapers, and were thought remarkable productions for a slave. His master took no interest in any of his poems, and knew nothing about them, except what he heard others say. Dr. Caldwell, who was then President of the University of North Carolina, and several other gentlemen, became interested for him, and tried to help him to obtain his freedom. In 1829 a little volume of his poems, called "The Hope of Liberty," was printed in Raleigh, by Gales and Son. The pamphlet was sold to raise money enough for George to buy himself. He was then thirty-two years old, in the prime of his strength, "'Twas like the salutation of the dove, Borne on the zephyr through some lonesome grove, When spring returns, and winter's chill is past, And vegetation smiles above the blast. "The silent harp, which on the osiers hung, Again was tuned, and manumission sung; Away by hope the clouds of fear were driven, And music breathed my gratitude to Heaven." It would have been better for him if his hopes had not been so highly excited. His poems did not sell for enough to raise the sum his master demanded for him, and his friends were not sufficiently benevolent to make up the deficiency. In 1837, when he was forty years old, he was still working as a slave at Chapel Hill, the seat of the University of North Carolina. It was said at that time that he had ceased to write poetry. I suppose the poor fellow was discouraged. If he is still alive, he is sixty-seven years old; and I hope it will comfort his poor, bruised heart to know that some of his verses are preserved, and published for the benefit of those who have been his companions in Slavery, and who, more fortunate than he was, have become freemen before their strength has left them. |
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