The Underground Railroad

The Ballad of the Underground Railroad by Charles L. Blockson

The Underground Train,
Strange as it seems,
Carried many passengers
And never was seen

It wasn’t made of wood,
It wasn’t made of steel;
A man-made train that
Ran without wheels.

The train was known
By many a name.
But the greatest of all
Was “The Freedom Train”

The Quakers, the Indians,
Gentiles and Jews,
Were some of the people
Who made up the crews.

Free Blacks and Christians
And Atheists, too,
Were the rest of the people
Who made up the crews.

Conductors and agents
Led the way at night,
Guiding the train
By the North Star Light.

The passengers were
The fugitive slaves
Running from slavery
And its evil ways.

Running from the whip
And the overseer,
From the slave block
And the Auctioneer.

They didn’t want their masters
To catch them again,
So men dressed as women
And the women dressed as men.

Blockson, Charles L. The Ballad of the Underground Railroad. Retrieved October 24, 2008, from http://blackhistory.owensound.ca/ballad.php

Swing Low Sweet Chariot by Wallis Willis

Chorus:
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin' for to carry me home!

I looked over Jordan and what did I see,
Comin' for to carry me home!
A band of angels comin' after me,
Comin' for to carry me home!

Chorus:

If you get there before I do,
Comin' for to carry me home,
Jess tell my friends that I'm acomin' too,
Comin' for to carry me home.

Chorus:

I'm sometimes up and sometimes down,
Comin' for to carry me home,
But still my soul feels heavenly bound
Comin' for to carry me home!

Willis, Wallis. Swing Low Sweet Chariot. Retrieved October 25, 2008, from http://blackhistory.owensound.ca/swinglow.php

To Listen to the Song, Click on the Link Below:

Swing Low Sweet Chariot

You may find the language of slave poetry confusing. When reading, try to evaluate the main ideas of each poem.

On the Death of a Young Gentleman

Who taught thee conflict with the pow'rs of night,
To vanquish satan in the fields of light?
Who strung thy feeble arms with might unknown,
How great thy conquest, and how bright thy crown!
War with each princedom, throne, and pow'r is o'er,
The scene is ended to return no more.
O could my muse thy seat on high behold,
How deckt with laurel, how enrich'd with gold!
O could she hear what praise thine harp employs,

How sweet thine anthems, how divine thy joys!
What heav'nly grandeur should exalt her strain!
What holy raptures in her numbers reign!
To sooth the troubles of the mind to peace,
To still the tumult of life's tossing seas,
To ease the anguish of the parents heart,
What shall my sympathizing verse impart?
Where is the balm to heal so deep a wound?
Where shall a sov'reign remedy be found?
Look, gracious Spirit, from thine heav'nly bow'r,

And thy full joys into their bosoms pour;
The raging tempest of their grief control,
And spread the dawn of glory through the soul,
To eye the path the saint departed trod,
And trace him to the bosom of his God.

- Phillis Wheatley

Wheatley, Phillis. On the Death of a Young Gentleman. Retrieved October 27, 2008, from http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-death-of-a-young-gentleman/

S L A V E R Y,

A P O E M.

    IF heaven has into being deign'd to call
Thy light, O LIBERTY! to shine on all;
Bright intellectual Sun! why does thy ray
To earth distribute only partial day?
Since no resisting cause from spirit flows                5
Thy penetrating essence to opose;
No obstacles by Nature's hand imprest,
Thy subtle and ethereal beams arrest;
Nor motion's laws can speed thy active course,
Nor strong repulsion's pow'rs obstruct thy force;                10
Since there is no convexity in MIND,
Why are thy genial beams to parts confin'd?

While the chill North with thy bright ray is blest,
Why should fell darkness half the South invest?
Was it decreed, fair Freedom! at thy birth,                15
That thou shou'd'st ne'er irradiate all the earth?
While Britain basks in thy full blaze of light,
Why lies sad Afric quench'd in total night?
    Thee only, sober Goddess! I attest,
In smiles chastis'd, and decent graces drest.                20
Not that unlicens'd monster of the crowd,
Whose roar terrific bursts in peals so loud,
Deaf'ning the ear of Peace: fierce Faction's tool;
Of rash Sedition born, and mad Misrule;
Whose stubborn mouth, rejecting Reason's rein,                25
No strength can govern, and no skill restrain;
Whose magic cries the frantic vulgar draw
To spurn at Order, and to outrage Law;

-Hannah Moore

Moore, Hannah. Slavery, A Poem. Retrieved October 27, 2008, from http://www.brycchancarey.com/slavery/morepoems.htm