POEMS OF SLAVERY. 1842. sleep, He saw his Native Land. [The following poems, with one exception, | Again, in the mist and shadow of were written at sea, in the latter part of October. 'I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since that event the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, a feeble testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING. THE pages of thy book I read, And as I close each one, Servant of God! well done!" Well done! Thy words are great At times they seem to me, Go on, until this land revokes The old and chartered Lie, Wide through the landscape of his The lordly Niger flowed; He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand; They held him by the hand!— The feudal curse, whose whips and And then at furious speed he rode Along the Niger's bank; His bridle-reins were golden chains, At each leap he could feel his scab- Smiting his stallion's flank. THE SLAVE SINGING AT MID- 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; These are the woes of Slaves; 66 We are the Witnesses !" THE QUADROON GIRL. THE Slaver in the broad lagoon Lay moored with idle sail; He waited for the rising moon, And for the evening gale. Under the shore his boat was tied, And all her listless crew Her eyes were large, and full of light, Her arms and neck were bare ; No garment she wore save a kirtle bright, And her own long, raven hair. And on her lips there played a smile As lights in some cathedral aisle 66 The features of a saint. woe; The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all, Expired, and thousands perished in the fall! The soil is barren, -the farm is There is a poor, blind Samson in old;" The thoughtful Planter said ; Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, And then upon the maid. His heart within him was at strife For he knew whose passions gave Whose blood ran in her veins. this land, As Lope says, the history of the world Brought down from Genesis to the Day of Judgment. There were three duels fought in the first act, Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds, Laying their hands upon their hearts, and saying, "O, I am dead!" a lover in a closet, An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, You were not at the play to-night, A Doña Inez with a black mantilla, Don Carlos ; How happened it? DON CARLOS. I had engagements elsewhere. Pray who was there? LARA. Why, all the town and court. The house was crowded; and the busy fans Among the gayly dressed and perfumed ladies Fluttered like butterflies among the flowers. Followed at twilight by an unknown lover. Who looks intently where he knows she is not! DON CARLOS. Of course, the Preciosa danced tonight? 1 As Lope says. "La cólera de un Español sentado no se templa, sino le representan en dos horas hasta el final juicio desde el Génesis." Lope de Vega. |