African American Poetry: A Digital AnthologyMain MenuFull Text Collection: Books Published by African American Poets, 1870-1928Long list of 100+ full texts books of poetry available on this "Anthology"Author Pages: Bios and Full Text CollectionsList of African American poets onAfrican American Periodical Poetry (1900-1928)A collection of African Amerian Periodical Poetry, mostly focused on 1900-1928Areas of Interest: Topics and ThemesAfrican American Poetry: Anthologies of the 1920sPoetry by African American Women (1890-1930): A Reader and GuideOpen access textbook introducing readers to Poetry by Black WomenExploring Datasets related to African American poetryAbout This Site: Mission Statement, Contributors, and Recent UpdatesAn account of the history and evolution of this site by the site editor.Further Reading / Works CitedAmardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1
coffle-gang
12025-06-11T11:10:54-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e12131Glossary (Bury me in a free land)plain2025-06-11T11:10:54-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1Wikipedia on the "coffle": "A coffle, sometimes called a platoon or a drove, was a group of enslaved people chained together and marched from one place to another by owners or slave traders. These troupes, sometimes called shipping lots before they were moved, ranged in size from a fewer than a dozen to 200 or more enslaved people. Coffles were rarely mentioned in southern newspapers because they were so common that they were unworthy of remark; most descriptions of coffles come from the accounts of travelers from other parts of the country or world."
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12023-06-26T09:36:40-04:00Frances E.W. Harper, "Bury Me in a Free Land' (1858)6Poem by Frances E.W. Harper first published in 1858plain2025-06-11T11:20:29-04:00 Make me a grave where'er you will, In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill, Make it among earth's humblest graves, But not in a land where men are slaves.
I could not rest if around my grave I heard the steps of a trembling slave: His shadow above my silent tomb Would make it a place of fearful gloom.
I could not rest if I heard the tread Of a coffle gang to the shambles led, And the mother's shriek of wild despair Rise like a curse on the trembling air.
I could not sleep if I saw the lash Drinking her blood at each fearful gash, And I saw her babes torn from her breast, Like trembling doves from their parent nest.
I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay Of blood-hounds seizing their human prey, And I heard the captive plead in vain As they bound afresh his galling chain.
If I saw young girls from their mothers' arms Bartered and sold for their youthful charms, My eye would flash with a mournful flame, My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.
I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might Can rob no man of his dearest right; My rest shall be calm in any grave Where none can call his brother slave.
I ask no monument, proud and high, To arrest the gaze of the passers by; All that my yearning spirit craves, Is bury me not in a land of slaves.
First Published in 1858 in Anti-Slavery Bugle, November 20, 1858 Also published in Weekly Anglo-African, June 2, 1860 Also published in The Liberator, 1864 Also published in Frances Harper's Poems, 1871
