At night he heard the lion roar, And the hyæna scream; And the river-horse as he crushed the reeds And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, The forests, with their myriad tongues, And the blasts of the desert cried aloud, That he started in his sleep and smiled He did not feel the driver's whip, Nor the burning heat of day; For death had illumined the land of sleep, And his lifeless body lay A worn-out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away! THE GOOD PART THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY. SHE dwells by great Kenhawa's side, In valleys green and cool; Are in the village school. Her soul, like the transparent air And thus she walks among her girls She reads to them at eventide And oft the blessed time foretells Their falling chains shall be. And following her beloved Lord, She makes her life one sweet record For she was rich and gave up all Of those who waited in her hall, Long since beyond the southern sea Now earns her daily bread. It is their prayers, which never cease, THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT. LOUD he sang the psalms of David! He, a Negro, and enslaved, Sang of Israel's victory, Sang of Zion, bright and free. In that hour, when night is calmest, Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, And the voice of his devotion Paul and Silas, in their prison, But, alas! what holy angel THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp The hunted Negro lay; He saw the fire of the midnight camp, Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, Where waving mosses shroud the pine, And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine Is spotted like the snake; Where hardly a human foot could pass, On the quaking turf of the green morass A poor old slave, infirm and lame; On his forehead he bore the brand of shame All things above were bright and fair, On him alone was the doom of pain, THE QUADROON GIRL. THE Slaver in the broad lagoon Under the shore his boat was tied, Odours of orange-flowers, and spice, The Planter, under his roof of thatch, He said, "My ship at anchor rides I only wait the evening tides, " Before them, with her face upraised, Like one half curious, half amazed, Her eyes were large, and full of light, And on her lips there played a smile As lights in some cathedral aisle "The soil is barren,-the farm is old;' The thoughtful Planter said; Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, And then upon the maid. His heart within him was at strife With such accursed gains; For he knew whose passions gave her life, Whose blood ran in her veins. |