George Moses Horton, at his best, was a poet of daring intensity and vast ambition. Born about 1797 in Northampton County, North Carolina, he was a slave for most of his life, until Emancipation in 1865. Horton, who taught himself to read, found his way into the hearts of many unwitting belles of North Carolina through his selling of personalized love lyrics to students at nearby Chapel Hill. He furthered his education by borrowing what books he could from these students.
Many of Horton’s best poems concern the topic of slavery. His “On Hearing of the Intention of a Gentleman to Purchase the Poet’s Freedom,” “On Liberty and Slavery,” and “The Slave’s Complaint” examine the slave’s position in clean and learned verses. “George Moses Horton, Myself” captures in its paced, cool contemplativeness and terse lyrics some of the unresolved strivings of the poet.
Horton had hoped to purchase his freedom with the sales of his first book of poems, The Hope of Liberty (published in Raleigh in 1829), the first full volume of verse published by an African American since Phillis Wheatley’s some thirty years before. But he fell short of this goal, living instead through three generations of Horton ownership.
The Hope of Liberty was reissued in 1837 in Philadelphia under the title Poems by a Slave. Horton’s second volume, Naked Genius, came to print in 1865, the year in which he escaped to the Northern infantry then occupying Raleigh. Little was heard of Horton after this point, and it is generally presumed that he lived the remainder of his life in Philadelphia, where he died in about 1883.
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 unto 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!
When on life’s ocean first I spread my sail,
I then implored a mild auspicious gale;
And from the slippery strand I took my flight,
And sought the peaceful haven of delight.
Tyrannic storms arose upon my soul,
And dreadful did their mad’ning thunders roll;
The pensive muse was shaken from her sphere,
And hope, it vanished in the clouds of fear.
At length a golden sun broke through the gloom,
And from his smiles arose a sweet perfume—
A calm ensued, and birds began to sing,
And lo! the sacred muse resumed her wing.
With frantic joy she chaunted as she flew,
And kiss’d the clement hand that bore her through;
Her envious foes did from her sight retreat,
Or prostrate fall beneath her burning feet.
’Twas like a proselyte, allied to Heaven—
Or rising spirits’ boast of sins forgiven,
Whose shout dissolves the adamant away,
Whose melting voice the stubborn rocks obey.
’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.
’Twas like the evening of a nuptial pair,
When love pervades the hour of sad despair—
’Twas like fair Helen’s sweet return to Troy,
When every Grecian bosom swell’d with joy.
The silent harp which on the osiers hung,
Was then attuned, and manumission sung;
Away by hope the clouds of fear were driven,
And music breathed my gratitude to Heaven.
Hard was the race to reach the distant goal,
The needle oft was shaken from the pole;
In such distress who could forbear to weep?
Toss’d by the headlong billows of the deep!
The tantalizing beams which shone so plain,
Which turned my former pleasures into pain—
Which falsely promised all the joys of fame,
Gave way, and to a more substantial flame.
Some philanthropic souls as from afar,
With pity strove to break the slavish bar;
To whom my floods of gratitude shall roll,
And yield with pleasure to their soft control.
And sure of Providence this work begun—
He shod my feet this rugged race to run;
And in despite of all the swelling tide,
Along the dismal path will prove my guide.
Thus on the dusky verge of deep despair,
Eternal Providence was with me there;
When pleasure seemed to fade on life’s gay dawn,
And the last beam of hope was almost gone.
I lov’d thee from the earliest dawn,
When first I saw thy beauty’s ray,
And will, until life’s eve comes on,
And beauty’s blossom fades away;
And when all things go well with thee,
With smiles and tears remember me.
I’ll love thee when thy morn is past,
And wheedling gallantry is o’er,
When youth is lost in age’s blast,
And beauty can ascend no more,
And when life’s journey ends with thee,
O, then look back and think of me.
I’ll love thee with a smile or frown,
’Mid sorrow’s gloom or pleasure’s light,
And when the chain of life runs down,
Pursue thy last eternal flight,
When thou hast spread thy wing to flee,
Still, still, a moment wait for me.
I’ll love thee for those sparkling eyes,
To which my fondness was betray’d,
Bearing the tincture of the skies,
To glow when other beauties fade,
And when they sink too low to see,
Reflect an azure beam on me.
I feel myself in need
Of the inspiring strains of ancient lore,
My heart to lift, my empty mind to feed,
And all the world explore.
And never can recover what is past,
But for the future may some light unfold
And soar from ages blast.
I feel resolved to try,
My wish to prove, my calling to pursue,
Or mount up from the earth into the sky,
To show what Heaven can do.
My genius from a boy,
Has fluttered like a bird within my heart;
But could not thus confined her powers employ,
Impatient to depart.
She like a restless bird,
Would spread her wings, her power to be unfurl’d,
And let her songs be loudly heard,
And dart from world to world.
Am I sadly cast aside,
On misfortune’s rugged tide?
Will the world my pains deride
Forever?
Must I dwell in Slavery’s night,
And all pleasure take its flight,
Far beyond my feeble sight,
Forever?
Worst of all, must hope grow dim,
And withhold her cheering beam?
Rather let me sleep and dream
Forever!
Something still my heart surveys,
Groping through this dreary maze;
Is it Hope?—they burn and blaze
Forever!
Leave me not a wretch confined,
Altogether lame and blind—
Unto gross despair consigned,
Forever!
Heaven! in whom can I confide?
Canst thou not for all provide?
Condescend to be my guide
Forever:
And when this transient life shall end,
Oh, may some kind, eternal friend
Bid me from servitude ascend,
Forever!
Eliza, tell thy lover why
Or what induced thee to deceive me?
Fare thee well—away I fly—
I shun the lass who thus will grieve me.
Eliza, still thou art my song,
Although by force I may forsake thee;
Fare thee well, for I was wrong
To woo thee while another take thee.
Eliza, pause and think awhile—
Sweet lass! I shall forget thee never:
Fare thee well! although I smile,
I grieve to give thee up for ever.