Lingua   

The Contraband of Port-Royal

John Greenleaf Whittier
Lingua: Inglese



Oh, praise an’ tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An’ massa tink it day ob doom,
An’ we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He Jus’ an’ strong as dem;
He say de word: we las’ night slaves;
Today, de Lord’s freemen.

Ole massa on he trabbles gone;
He leab de land behind;
De Lord’d breff blow him furder on,
Like cornshuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plow,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But nebber child be sold.

De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We’ll hab de rice an’ corn:
Oh, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!

We pray de Lord: he gib us signs
But some day we be free;
De Norfwind tell it to the pines,
De wildduck to de sea;
We tink it when de churchbell ring,
We dream it in de dream;
De ricebird mean it when he sing,
De eagle when he scream.

We know de promise nebber fail
An’ nebber lie de word;
So, like de ’postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord;
An’ now be upon ebery door,
An’ trow away de key;
He tink we lub him so before
We lub him better free.

De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We’ll hab de rice an’ corn:
Oh, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!


Pagina principale CCG

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