Away to Canada : Part One

Air -- "O Susannah"
Adapted to the case of Mr S., Fugitive from Tennesse.

I'm on my way to Canada,
   That cold and dreary land;
The dire effects of slavery,
    I can no longer stand.
My soul is vexed within me so,
  To think that I'm a slave;
I've now resolved to strike the blow
    For freedom or the grave.

     O righteous Father,
       Wilt thou not pity me?
    And aid me on to Canada,
         Where colored men are free.

I heard Victoria plainly say,
    If we could all forsake
Our native land of slavery,
   And come across the Lake.
That she was standing on the shore,
     With arms extended wide,
To give us all a peaceful home,
     Beyond the rolling tide.

Farewell, old master!
     That's Enough for me --
I'm going straight to Canada,
    Where colored men are free.

Joshua McCarter Simpson (1820? - 1876)

George Moses Horton, Myself

George Moses Horton, Myself

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.

I know that I am old
    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

George Moses Horton

I think he was a love poet, and when he was in love he loved hard and fast - never letting his woman go but, in a good way you know? Who do you think George Moses Horton was?

Just making sure your listening

Hello to all my viewers! I'm sorry that I haven't been posting everyday as promised, but I've been really discouraged lately. I mean, I've gotten little to no likes on facebook and not at all as many views as I hoped to have on here. But, you know what I will not quit, and since I won't quit will you promise not to quit as well?

Signed,
Ashanti Waybriel

Poem #6: Imploring to be Resigned at Death

Imploring to be Resigned at Death

Let me die and not tremble at death,
  But smile at the close of my day,
And then at the flight of my breath,
   Like a bird of the morning in May,
                     Go chanting away.

Let me die without fear of the dead, 
    No horrors my soul shall dismay,
And with faith's pillow under my head,
    With defiance to mortal decay, 
                      Go chanting away.

Let me die like a son of the brave,
   And martial distinction display;
Nor shrink from a thought of the grave,
  No, but with a smile from the clay,
                 Go chanting away.

Let me die glad, regardless of pain,
   No pang to this world betray,
And the spirit cut loose from its chains,
    So loath in the flesh to decay,
                     Go chanting away.

Let me die, and my worst foe forgive,
    When death veils the last vital ray;
Since I have but a moment to live,
   Let me, when the last debt I pay,
                           Go chanting away.

George Moses Horton
     The George Moses Horton Project was founded in January 2000 as a special program of the Chatham County Arts Council, in partnership with the Horton Middle School and the Chatham County Black Historical Society. Its mission is to spark the creative spirit in Chatham students and citizens, and to honor local history, focusing on the life and work of George Moses Horton as a hero of literacy and expression.

Project, Horton. "George Moses Horton Project." George Moses Horton Project. George Moses Horton Project, 07 Aug. 2012. Web. 13 Aug. 2012. <http://chathamarts.org/horton/>.

Sherman, Joan R. "George Moses Horton." African-American Poetry: An Anthology, 1773-1927. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1997. 4-5. Print.

Poem #5: Troubled With the Itch and Rubbing With Sulpher

Troubled With the Itch and Rubbing With Sulpher

'Tis Bitter, yet 'tis sweet
     Scratching effects but transient ease;
Pleasure and pain together meet
     And vanish as they please.

My nails, the only balm,
    To every bump are oft applied,
And thus the rage will sweetly calm
    Which aggravates my hide.

It soon returns again:
    A frown succeeds to every smile;
Grinning I scratch and curse the pain
    But grieve to be so vile.

In fine, I know not which 
   Can play the most deceitful game:
The devil, sulphur, or the itch.
     The three are but the same.

The devil sows the itch,

   And  slupher has a loathsome smell,

And with my clothes as black as pitch

   I stink where'er I dwell

Excoriated deep,
     By friction played on every part, 
It oft deprives me of my sleep
   And plagues me to my heart.

George Moses Horton
Declared the Historic Poet Laureate of Chatham County, Horton was born a slave on William Horton's tobacco plantation in 1798. He taught himself to read, though it was forbidden for slaves, and composed and performed poetry about the rural landscape, Civil War politics, and his harsh experiences under slavery. Horton holds the distinction of being the first African American to publish a book, and the only to publish while living in slavery.

"Poetry Landmark: George Moses Horton's Hometown in Chatham County, NC."Www.Poets.org. Ed. Academy American Poets. Academy of American Poets, 07 Aug. 1997. Web. 08 Aug. 2012. <http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5756>.

Horton, George M. "George Moses Horton." African-American Poetry: An Anthology, 1773-1927. By Joan R. Sherman. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1997. 4. Print.

Poem #4: Early Affection

Early Affection

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 ages blast,
  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.

George Moses Horton 
Horton's last years were spent in Philadelphia writing Sunday's school stories and working for old North Carolina friends who lived in the city. Details of his death are unrecorded. Through Horton's unhappy marriage to a slave of Franklin Snipes, he was the father of a son Free and a daughter Rhody, both of whom bore their mother's name. 


Powell, William S. "The University of North Carolina Press." UNC Press. William S. Powell, 07 Aug. 2012. Web. 07 Aug. 2012. <http://www.uncpress.unc.edu/>.

Horton, George M. "George Moses Horton." African-American Poetry: An Anthology, 1773-1927. By Joan R. Sherman. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1997. 3-4. Print.

Poem #3: Liberty and Slavery

Liberty and Slavery

Alas! and am I born for this,
   To wear this slavish chain?
Deprived of all created bliss,
  Though 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?

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!

George Moses Horton (1797? - 1883)

A slave in North Carolina for 66 years, Horton published 150 poems in three volumes for 1829 1865. His subjects include his bondage, love, religion, nature, the art of poetry and the Civil War. Fun Fact: George taught himself how to read with and old speller and a copy of the Methodist hymnal. Want another? He always had a love for poetry and began composing psalm - meter verses in his head.

Horton, George M. "George Moses Horton." African-American Poetry: An Anthology, 1773-1927. By Joan R. Sherman. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1997. 2-3. Print.

#2: An Hymn To The Evening

An Hymn To The Evening

       Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew thier notes,
And though the air thier mingled music floats.

     Though all the heav'ns what beauteous dyes are
          spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev'ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!

    Fill'd with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers soothe each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav'nly, more refin'd;
So shall the labors of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.

    Night's leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.

Phillis Wheatly Peters

Why is Phillis so important? Phillis got to experince life in America in a way that African Americans were never able too, before the civil war was ever even mentioned and, she wrote about it! A woman in the 1700's writing poetry to tell what was going on in the world this had never been seen or heard of, not to mention the fact that she was not only black but a slave too! So why is Phillis Wheatly so important because she was an originator, a visionary she was able to see life going on and turn them into stories, poetry for people to enjoy without being blinded by color. Phillis Wheatly's actions have still yet to be repeated in history.

Wheatly Peters, Phillis. "Phillis Wheatly Peters (1753?-1784)." Ed. Joan R. Sherman. African-American Poetry : An Anthology, 1773-1927. Mineola: Dover, 1997. 1. Print.

Poem #1: On being Brought from Africa to America

On being Brought From Africa To America

'Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there's a God, that there's a Saivor too:
Once I redemption nethier sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
"Thier color is a diabolic dye."
Remeber, Christans, Negroes, black as Cain,
May be refin'd, and join th' angelic train.


Phillis Wheatly Peters (1753?-1784)

Brought from Africa to Boston in 1761, the young slave became well-educated and in 1773 published Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral. Fun Fact: Her master's daughter,which was her best friend, taught Phillis how to read. Wanna know another? The family embraced her new talents and eventually would take her to do shows to showcase her poetry talent.

Wheatly Peters, Phillis. "Phillis Wheatly Peters (1753?-1784)." Ed. Joan R. Sherman. African-American Poetry : An Anthology, 1773-1927. Mineola: Dover, 1997. 1. Print.

What am I trying to do?

What am I trying to do?
  I am trying to enrich the minds of those around me by giving them a poem a day.
Why am I doing this?
  Because I often hear my peers say " I hate Black History" or they are constantly complaining about how it was forced down their throats. I want to give my peers the positive points of Black history. Instead, of focusing on civil rights or slavery I will focus on the things that weren't talked about such as, black poets, inventors or politician.
Why did I choose to start with poetry?
  Because I found this groovy book called "African - American Poetry" while I was at work today and was inspired!