Rev. Henry Evans Holder, Fragments of a Poem, 1792

Rev. Henry Evans Holder, curate of St. Joseph Parish in Barbados, authored A Short Essay on the Subject of Negro Slavery in 1788 as a response to the burgeoning abolitionist movement in Britain. He also authored a poem in 1792 in response to an antislavery poem by Major John Marjoribanks. Holder's poem utilizes "Christian paternalism" as an argument in favor of the institution of slavery against the growing abolitionism in Britain.

Curs'd be that baleful wit, that dares to point 

Its poison’d shaft against the cause of truth,
Of virtue, and humanity, yet oft
Conceals its fell design beneath the veil
Of philanthropic zeal and sympathy:
Forgetful that 'tis possible, at least,

That what it pays to one, it yet may wrest 

From some not less deserving relative:
Yet, oft'ner careless of the lasting ill
Its wanton obloquy may chance t’inflict
Upon a race of men who’re doom'd to bear 

The stings of lordly malice, unreprov'd;
Incapable perhaps to weild the sword
Of just defence, or struggling with a load 

Of prejudices base, and party-rage.

‘Tis thus the warm Atlantic sons deplore,
That Britain, on their all-devoted heads, 

The thunders of her fury launches forth;
And with unpitying hand destroys
The fabric fair she once was proud to rear;
Nor only satisfied to spoil their wealth, 

E'en character's sweet flower they blast,
And paint those children, whom 'twas once their pride
To cherish with her best maternal care,
As now unworthy all her wonted pains,
A burden now, which once she joy'd to bear,
And triumph'd as she call'd it all her own!

But can it be, that Nature all her rights
Exclusive to her sable sons confines?
Or is it, that the Colonist, remov’d
From his dear country’s shores, must lose her love
And, exil'd from her presence, be her foe?
If e'er the name of Loyal Faith could sound
Delightful to the ear of Royalty,
The Caribbean circle sure must claim
The fost’ring smiles of Britain's grateful chief:
Sure they may boast that, when, by fury led,
Their kindred colonies forsook their faith, 

They stood in all their ancient promises, 

And bore the burden of that cruel day, 

Content to suffer ev'ry common ill.
Yet now 'tis all forgot! and ev'ry foe
That knows to mock the page of history 

With gloomy phantoms of his jaundic'd mind,
May tell his tale of cruelty and woe,
And meet with ready credence from the ear
Of Sciolists and crafty Demagogues:
While he who dares to contradict the tale,
Encounters all the bitternefs of rage,
Of scorn, and mean reflection, murmuring out
Fancies that must insult, and may deceive!

Say, shall the man, whose all-creative arm,
From 'mid the pathless wilderness has rais'd
A novel paradise, and found from toil 

The well-earn'd meed of property and eafe;
Whose labours Britain's laws have fanctify'd, 

And taught to hope, that what himself had gain'd 

His lov'd posterity might long enjoy;
Shall he, I fay, in one fad moment, hear
'That all the wont protection is renounc'd;
Those fellow-lab'rers whom his daily care
Had reard to turn for him the rigid glebe, 

And constant hare the bounties it bestows;
Acquit at once of obligation's bond,
Are now no more his flaves, and may refuse 

To ratify the mutual covenant which paid 

Service with raiment, food, and patronage?

And are you sure, Reformer, fiery red!
That what you give is worth acceptance?
Can you suppose that freedom is a boon
Where competence is wanting? 

Can the Black Hail you his benefactor, when you give
A name, and strip him of realities?
When you curse him with a fancied liberty, 

And leave him to endure the many cares 

Which people each domestic head and heart,
To rear a tender offspring, and provide 

For tott'ring age and fell infirmity?
If now he feels upon his bed of death,
No pangs of families abandon'd quite
To miseries his arm had once repell'd,
Nor suffers in himself the chilling pangs
Of cold neglect and pinching penury?
Secure that gratitude and interest
Combine to give, at once, to him and them,
Such claims upon a master’s ceaseless care,
As charity ne'er gave, nor e'er shall give,
To the free lab'rer of Britannia's soil,
In spite of all her feign'd philanthropy:
Say, can you prove that your decretal word,
Which gives emancipation, can bestow
Felicity?-and if it fail of this,
Say, are you yet so wedded to your schemes,
As still to force your whimsies on the slave,
And thus compel him to a life of labour, 

Without the blessings of his former toil;
Because that you have form'd an idol here,
To which he there must sacrifice his food, 

His raiment, his security, and peace?

But who, you'll say, shall guard the wretched slave
From tyrant-cruelty and bloody scourge?
Believe me he requires no hand to guard, 

No interference from your mad'ning zeal:
The world in all its varying climes may shew
Some sad exceptions to a rule of love;
But not a spot exifts, where rage and hate
Prevail as genial principles to act;
And even where the charities of life
Are laid asleep, when passions wake to rule,
The voice of intereft will be heard aloud;
Nor yet in any fate of life more loud,
Than when she teaches ev'ry master’s heart,
That all his wealth is center'd in his slave, 

Both what he gave, to realize his labours,
As what he hopes to find from all those fields,
Which teem no produce, and no harvest yield,
Without the hand of man to draw them forth.

But after all, when this great work is done, 

When you have fill'd this hemisphere here with rage,
Against the children of the Western world, 

Can you look up to GOD, and boldly say,
My motive was to serve his creatures,
And further his designs of genial love?
Rush not upon "the bosses of his shield,"
Nor dare his thunders by a falsehood base;
But hang your heads, and smite your guilty breasts,
As you confess, because you can't deny, 

That pride, or vanity, or envy mean,
Or malice fell, or private views, first arm'd
Your zeal; and shame has since impell'd you on,
Your cruel work of darkness to complete;
Hoping the while that late posterity
May eagerly believe, that virtue's cause 

Was your's, at least in your intention pure, 

And that your crime was all involuntary:
But hear me now, while yet 'tis time to hear,
No late posterity, nor distant age,
Will be thus shamefully deceiv'd;
Your names will faithful to their times defend,
In all the blackness of your infamy;
And you'll be known to be, what you yourselves
Now feel, to your own cost, to be too true, 

That not to serve humanity, but self,
Was all your motive, and, that self-appeas'd
The sable slave, the cruel lord, alike
May go--where you, alas! may chance to, go;
And in their own experience find, that he 

Who trusts in human virtue, tugs a rope
Of sand, and worships 'fore a wooden god!
That GOD alone can save the son of woe, 

And give that best of liberty which lives
In souls, emancipate from thralling sin;
That peace which man can neither give nor take,
But which his blessed Son bequeath'd to all, 

Who liv'd his life, and lov'd his Love, divine!