Volume Thirteen - Pre-Victorian to the Present Day - even more aspects - Slavery - echoes of the past . . . .

Why am I Slave?

	I knew that happy hearts were there,
		For voices full of glee
	Came on the air, and from their tone
		I knew that they were free ;
	Unlike the low faint murmuring sound,
		That marks the wretched slave,
	Word's wrung from misery's quivering lips,
		That sound as from the grave.

	I turned - there stood my lonely hut,
		I call it not my home,
	For no beloved face is there,
		And no familiar form,
	No voice to break its solitude,
		And none to soothe the woe
	Of him who was born to sigh,
		Whose tears must ever flow.

	Why does the rose bestrew his path,
		And mine the pricking thorn ?
	Why was the white man born to smile,
		And I to sigh and mourn ?
	I know not, only this I know,
		Till in the silent grave
	There is no hope, no joy for me,
		I am a slave - a slave !