Written in 1788, “The Negro’s Complaint,” a poem by William Cowper, discusses slavery from the perspective of the enslaved. A foundational abolitionist poem, it directly confronts the moral, religious, and human rights abuses of slavery. It seeks to awaken moral conscience, emphasize the shared humanity of Black people, and challenge the economic and social justifications of the transatlantic slave trade. Its essence revolves around the themes of human dignity, the injustice of slavery, and the assertion of innate equality and moral worth regardless of skin color. Its powerful moral and religious appeals contributed significantly to the abolitionist movement’s efforts to end slavery in Britain and beyond.
Its relevance today endures as a poignant reminder of the enduring struggles against racial injustice and systemic oppression, as well as the importance of recognizing the innate dignity of every human being. Just as the poem advocates for empathy and moral reflection, contemporary issues like the murder of George Floyd in 2020 highlight ongoing racial violence and the urgent need for societal change rooted in justice, equality, and the acknowledgment of shared human worth. Floyd’s death became a catalyst for global protests and renewed conversations about racial inequality, echoing the poem’s call for moral awakening and respect for human rights.
To listen to the poem, please click on the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAqemDJnAuY
“The Negro’s Complaint” (1788)
Forc’d from home, and all its pleasures,
Afric’s coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger’s treasures,
O’er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though theirs they have enroll’d me,
Minds are never to be sold.
Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England’s rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks, and black complexion
Cannot forfeit nature’s claim;
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same.
Why did all creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards;
Think how many backs have smarted
For the sweets your cane affords.
Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there one who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne the sky?
Ask him, if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Are the means that duty urges
Agents of his will to use?
Hark! He answers!—Wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks;
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks.
He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric’s sons should undergo,
Fix’d their tyrants’ habitations
Where his whirlwinds answer—No.
By our blood in Afric wasted
Ere our necks received the chain;
By the miseries that we tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main;
By our sufferings, since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart,
All sustained by patience, taught us
Only by a broken heart;
Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason ye shall find
Worthier of regard and stronger
Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours!