William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The American CaptiveW
Its mournful cadence strikes upon my ears,
Tells in sad murmurs how time onward rolls,
And adds its moments to my sorrowing years.
Almerius courts dread midnight’s horrid gloom,
He hails its shades congenial to his mind,
And mourns neglected his unhappy doom.
Where Pity not one tear for misery sheds,
Where not Humanity a smile will lend,
But Grief unfolding her dark mantle spreads;
For me soft sympathy has ceased to flow;
No more those lips shall winning accents move,
And with their sweetness soothe the pang of wo.
The moon’s now hid beneath a lowering cloud:
Now glimmering from on high she shines serene,
And, brighten’d, breaks forth from the blacken’d shroud.
And in this tower emits a trembling ray,
Which lights the dungeon where a wretch remains,
To drear confinement an unhappy prey.
Whose fragrant coolness fans my panting breast;
Abroad I hear the rustling of the trees,
And the shrill screaming of the midnight guest.
In warbling accents pour its pensive song—
The song of sorrow and the song of love—
Which floating zephyrs gently waft along.
Which foaming tumbles from the rocky hills;
Rising it throws its plaintive murmur round,
And all the air with fairy music fills.
With grating discord drown the soothing strains,
When, listening every noise, he distant spies
Some awful phantom stalking o’er the plains.
A dismal dread now damps my grief-worn heart;
Methinks some ghost with hollow screaming calls,
And groans and sighs the neighbouring cells impart.
And seems to whisper through the iron grates;
Slow o’er its haggard face roll fearful tears,
And wild despair its fiery eye dilates.
Within its hand a bloody knife it holds
Around its limbs a filthy garb is spread,
Which, stain’d with gore, before the gale unfolds.
And left a prisoner terrified with fear;
Ah! ’twas the spectre of some murder’d dead,
A sufferer, a Columbian—names so dear.
Hail to her waving and her cooling shade!
There her blest sons enjoy what nature yields,
And Freedom’s charms the extended realm pervade.
No tyrant’s hand inflicts inhuman woes;
Tranquil the swain roves through the shady vale,
And courts, fatigued, the slumbers of repose.
And the glad strains of joy and freedom join’d,
To the rough dangers of the ocean wore,
And steer’d the stately ship with breast resign’d.
And sorrowing mourn their son’s unhappy lot:
Thousands for ransom cheerfully they’d give,
But poverty surrounds their weeping cot.
Relieved their breasts of poverty and care;
That from their cheeks dispell’d affliction’s tears,
And raised their hopes to pleasure from despair.
Fair as the beauty of the dawning morn:
Weeping the rambles o’er congenial plains,
While the soft graces all her steps adorn.
Those words which zephyrs on their fragrance bore;
The expressive sorrow of that charming face,
When last we parted to embrace no more?
Before the winds we spread the swelling sails;
We on the billows of the ocean rode,
And swiftly moved before propitious gales.
Ploughing the waves, the sons of prey drew nigh;
Upon the mast the bloody flag was rear’d,
And death terrific glimmer’d in each eye.
The dreadful falchion glitter’d in each hand;
The horrid prow its iron grapple rears,
The thundering captain issues his command.
In vain man’s sacred rights and country plead;
Around our limbs they fold the galling chain—
See, O my country! your brave freemen bleed!
Whose warlike turrets, beaming from on high,
Strike in the gloomy soul a sickening ray,
And call a tear upon the sorrowing eye.
Far fly my dungeon comfort and repose;
By labour and by torturing fiends oppress’d,
I find no ease but what frail hope bestows.
Make no impression on thy callous heart?
Does not the glow of sympathy remain?
Does not humanity its sigh impart?
Where conquering Washington, where Warren bled,
Where patriot virtue and where valour shone,
And where oppression bow’d her guilt-stain’d head.
Adieu, those joys which give to life its charm,
Within these walls Almerius must deplore
The sleeping vigour of his country’s arm.