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Poem	Why dost thou beat thy breast and rend thine hair, And to the deaf sea pour thy frantic cries? Before the gale the laden vessel flies; The Heavens all-favoring smile, the breeze is fair; Hark to the clamors of the exulting crew! Hark how their thunders mock the patient skies! Why dost thou shriek and strain thy red-swoln eyes As the white sail dim lessens from thy view? Go pine in want and anguish and despair, There is no mercy found in human-kind-- Go Widow to thy grave and rest thee there! But may the God of Justice bid the wind Whelm that curst bark beneath the mountain wave, And bless with Liberty and Death the Slave!
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