« ForrigeFortsæt »
Fall the keen and burning lashes, never on his back
or limb; Scarce with look or word of censure, turns the
driver unto him.
Yet, his brow is always thoughtful, and his eye is
hard and stern; Slavery's last and humblest lesson, he has never
deigned to learn. And, at evening, when his comrades dance before
their master's door, Folding arms and knitting forehead, stands he
God be praised for every instinct which rebels
against a lot, Where the brute survives the human, and man's
upright form is not !
As the serpent-like bejuco winds his spiral fold on
fold, Round the tall and stately ceiba, till it withers in
his hold ;
Slow decays the forest monarch, closer girds the
fell embrace, Till the tree is seen no longer, and the vine is in
So a base and bestial nature, round the vassal's
manhood twines, And the spirit wastes beneath it, like the ceiba
choked with vines.
God is Love, saith the Evangel; and our world of
woe and sin Is made light and happy only, when a Love is
Ye whose lives are free as sunshine, finding where
soe'er ye roam, Smiles of welcome, looks of kindness, making all
the world like home;
In the veins of whose affections, kindred blood is
but a part, Of one kindly current throbbing from the universal
Can ye know the deeper meaning of a lore in
Slavery nursed, Last Power of a lost Eden, blooming in that Soil
Love of Home, and Love of Woman dear to all,
but doubly dear To the heart whose pulses elsewhere measure only
hate and fear.
All around the desert circles, underneath a brazen
sky, Only one green spot remaining where the dew is
never dry! From the horror of that desert, from its atmosphere
of hell, Turns the fainting spirit thither, as the diver seeks
'Tis the fervid tropic noontime; faint and low the
sea-waves beat; IIazy rise the inland mountains through the glim
mer of the heat,Where, through mingled leaves and blossoms ar * We shall live as slaves no longer! Freedom's
rowy sunbeams flash and glisten, Speaks her lover to the slave girl, and she lifts her
head to listen :
hour is close at hand ! Rocks her bark upon the waters, rests the boat
upon the strand !
"I have seen the Haytien Captain ; I have seen
his swarthy crew, llaters of the pallid faces, to their race and color
* They have sworn to wait our coming till the night
has passed its noon, And the gray and darkening waters roll above the
Oh! the blessed hope of freedom ! how with joy
and glad surprise, For an instant throbs her bosom, for an instant
beam her eyes ! But she looks across the valley, where her mother's
hut is seen, Through the snowy bloom of coffee, anu the lemon
leaves so green. And she answers, sad and earnest: “It were wrong
for thee to stay ; God hath heard thy prayer for freedom, and his
finger points the way. "Well I know with what endurance, for the sake
of me and mine, Thou hast borne too long a burden, never meant
for souls like thine.
"Go; and at the hour of midnight, when our last
farewell is o'er, Kneeling on our place of parting, I will bless thee “ But for me, my mother, lying on her sick bed all
from the shore.
the day, Lifts her weary head to watch me, coming through
the twilight gray. “ Should I leave her sick and helpless, even free.
dom, shared with thee, Would be sadder far than bondage, lonely toil, and
stripes to me.
brain would soon be wild : I should hear my mother calling through the twi
light for her child !”
Blazing upward from the ocean, shines the sun of
morning time, Through the coffee-trees in blossom, and green
hedges of the lime.
Side by side, amidst the slave gang, toil the lover
and the maid; Wherefore looks he o'er the waters, leaning for
ward on his spade ?
sail he sees,
Sadly looks he, deeply sighs he: 'tis the Haytien's Like a white cloud of the mountains, driven sea
ward by the breeze!
But his arm a light hand presses, and he hears a
low voice call : Hate of Slavery, hope of Freedom, Love is mightier
WRITTEN ON LEARNING THE TERMS OF THE TREATY
Across the Stony Mountains, o’er the desert's
drouth and sand, The circles of our empire touch the Western
Ocean's strand; From slumberous Timpanogos, to Gila, wild and
free, Flowing down from Neuva Leon to California's
sea; And from the mountains of the East, to Santa
Rosa's shore, The eagles of Mexitli shall beat the air no more. O Vale of Rio Bravo! Let thy simple children
weep; Close watch about their holy fire let maids of Pecos
keep; Let Taos send her cry across Sierra Madre's pines, And Algodones toll her bells amidst her corn and
vines; For lo! the pale land-seekers come, with eager
eyes of gain, Wide scattering, like the bison herds on broad
Salada's plain. Let Sacramento's herdsmen heed what sound, the
winds bring down, Of footsteps on the crisping snow, from cold Neve
da's crown! Full hot and fast the Saxon rides, with rein of
travel slack, And, bending o'er his saddle, leaves the sunrise at