Читать книгу Terrible Tractoration, and Other Poems онлайн

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Hold all correct, which suits our fancies,

And never yield to circumstances.

We cannot brook the serpentine,

Our march is onward, one straight line,

Nor flood nor fire impedes our way,

Lickitacut—devil to pay!

We prompt or sanction all procedures

Of Slavery-Abolition-Leaders,

Who “go ahead” with more display

Than a whirlwind’s march o’er a dusty way.

Though southern blacks, to all appearances,

Are injured by our interferences,

Still right is right, your most obedient

Cares not a fig about th’ expedient.

Let loose the blacks at any rate,

Without delay, without debate,

Their clanging chains asunder snap

Suddenly as by thunder clap.

Huzza then, for amalgamation

To change our “dough-faced population,”

In course of one more generation,

To a nice copper-color’d nation.

Reader it may be you’re a lady,

Fair as the blush of morn in May day,—

And not much smitten with our plan

Of union with a color’d man.

Bah! bah! my dear, I tell you this is

The silliest of prejudices;

Cupid will duly elevate him,