THE WITNESSES. And the voice of his devotion Filled 05 my soul with strange emotion; For its tones by turns were glad, Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. Paul and Silas, in their prison, But, alas! what holy angel Brings the Slave this glad evangel? And what earthquake's arm of might Breaks his dungeon gates at night? 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. There the black Slave-ship swims, Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered, fleshless limbs Are not the sport of storms. These are the bones of Slaves; They cry, from yawning waves, Within Earth's wide domains Are markets for men's lives; Their necks are galled with chains, 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; The foulest, rankest weeds, That choke Life's groaning tide! These are the woes of Slaves; They glare from the abyss; They cry, from unknown graves, "We are the Witnesses!" Under the shore his boat was tied, And all her listless crew Watched the gray alligator slide Into the still bayou. N 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, The Slaver's thumb was on the latch, He said, "My ship at anchor rides I only wait the evening tides, And the rising of the moon." Before them, with her face upraised, Like one half curious, half amazed, Her eyes were large, and full of light, No garment she wore save a kirtle bright, And on her lips there played a smile As lights in some cathedral aisle The features of a saint. THE QUADROON GIRL. "The soil is barren,—the farm is old;" Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, His heart within him was at strife With such accursed gains; For he knew whose passions gave her life, But the voice of nature was too weak; Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, 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! 470724 |