Before him, like a blood-red flag,
The bright flamingoes flew ;

From morn till night he followed their flight,
O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,

And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,
And the hyæna scream;

And the river-horse as he crushed the reeds
Beside some hidden stream;

And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;

And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.

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 SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp
The hunted Negro lay;

He saw the fire of the midnight camp,
And heard at times a horse's tramp,

And a bloodhound's distant bay.

Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, In bulrush and in brake;

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,
Or a human heart would dare,

On the quaking turf of the green morass
He crouched in the rank and tangled grass,
Like a wild beast in his lair.

A poor old slave, infirm and lame ;
Great scars deformed his face;

On his forehead he bore the brand of shame,
And the rags, that hid his mangled frame,
Were the livery of disgrace.

All things above were bright and fair,
All things were glad and free;
Lithe squirrels darted here and there,
And wild birds filled the echoing air
With songs of Liberty!

On him alone was the doom of pain,
From the morning of his birth;
On him alone the curse of Cain
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain,
And struck him to the earth!

THE GOOD PART THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY

SHE dwells by great Kenhawa's side,

In valleys green and cool;

And all her hope and all her pride
Are in the village school.

Her soul, like the transparent air That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there All things with arms of love.

And thus she walks among her girls With praise and mild rebukes; Subduing even rude village churls By her angelic looks.

She reads to them at eventide
Of One who came to save;
To cast the captive's chains aside,
And liberate the slave.

And oft the blessed time foretells
When all men shall be free;

And musical, as silver bells,
Their falling chains shall be.

And following her beloved Lord,
In decent poverty,

She makes her life one sweet record
And deed of charity.

For she was rich and gave up all
To break the iron bands

Of those who waited in her hall,
And laboured in her lands.

Long since beyond the Southern Sea Their outbound sails have sped, While she, in meek humility,

Now earns her daily bread.

It is their prayers, which never cease, That clothe her with such grace; Their blessing is the light of peace That shines upon her face.

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
Watched the gray alligator slide
Into the still bayou.

Odours of orange-flowers, and spice,
Reached them from time to time,
Like airs that breathe from Paradise
Upon a world of crime.

The Planter, under his roof of thatch,
Smoked thoughtfully and slow;
The Slaver's thumb was on the latch,
He seemed in haste to go.

He said, "My ship at anchor rides
In yonder broad lagoon ;

I only wait the evening tides,

And the rising of the moon."

Before them, with her face upraised,
In timid attitude,

Like one half curious, half amazed,
A Quadroon maiden stood.

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 holy, meek, and faint,

As lights in some cathedral aisle
The features of a saint.

"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.

But the voice of nature was too weak;
He took the glittering gold!

Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek,
Her hands as icy cold.

The Slaver led her from the door,
He led her by the hand,

To be his slave and paramour
In a strange and distant land!

THE WITNESSES

IN Ocean's wide domains,
Half buried in the sands,

Lie skeletons in chains,

With shackled feet and hands.

Beyond the fall of dews,

Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships with all their crews,
No more to sink nor rise.