Poems . rude village churlsBy her angelic looks. She reads to them at eventideOf One who came to save; To cast the captives chains aside,And liberate the slave. And oft the blessed time foretellsWhen all men shall be free; And musical, as silver bells, Their falling chains shall be. 184 POEMS ON SLAVERY. 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 allTo break the iron bands Of those who waited in her hall,And laboured in her lands. Long since beyond the Southern SeaTheir outbound sails have sped, While
Poems . rude village churlsBy her angelic looks. She reads to them at eventideOf One who came to save; To cast the captives chains aside,And liberate the slave. And oft the blessed time foretellsWhen all men shall be free; And musical, as silver bells, Their falling chains shall be. 184 POEMS ON SLAVERY. 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 allTo break the iron bands Of those who waited in her hall,And laboured in her lands. Long since beyond the Southern SeaTheir 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 peaceThat shines upon her face. 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 horses tramp And a bloodhounds distant bav. THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. 185. 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 morassHe 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. 186 POEMS ON SLAVERY. 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 airWith songs of Liberty! On him alone was the doom of pain,From the morning of his birth;On him alone the curse of CainFell, like a flail on the garnered grain,And struck him to the earth ! THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT. Loud he sang the psalm of David!He, a Negro and enslaved,Sang of Israel
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