Beyond the fall of dews,
     Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews,
     No more to sink or rise.

There the black slave-ship swims,
     Freighted with human forms,
Whose fettered, fleshless limbs
     Are not the sport of storms.

These are the bones of slaves!
     They gleam from the abyss;
They cry, from yawning waves,
     "We are the witnesses!"

Within earth's wide domains
     Are markets for men's lives;
Their necks are galled with chains,
     Their wrists are cramped with gyves.

Dead bodies, that the kite
     In deserts makes its prey;
Murders, that with affright,
     Scare schoolboys from their play!

All evil thoughts and deeds;
     Anger, and lust, and pride;
The foulest, rankest weeds,
     That choice life's groaning tide!

These are the woes of slaves;
     They glare from the abyss;
They cry, from unknown graves,
     "We are the witnesses!"