Poems . mightBreaks his dungeon gates at night ? THE WITNESSES. In Oceans 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. 188 POEMS ON SLAVERY. There the black Slave-ship swims,Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered, fleshless limbsAre not the sport of storms. These are the bones of Slaves; They gleam from the abyss:They cry, from yawning waves, We are the Witnesses! Within Earths wide domainsAre markets for mens lives; Their necks are
Poems . mightBreaks his dungeon gates at night ? THE WITNESSES. In Oceans 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. 188 POEMS ON SLAVERY. There the black Slave-ship swims,Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered, fleshless limbsAre not the sport of storms. These are the bones of Slaves; They gleam from the abyss:They cry, from yawning waves, We are the Witnesses! Within Earths wide domainsAre markets for mens lives; Their necks are galled with chains, Their wrists are cramped with gyves. 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 Lifes groaning tide ! These are the woes of Slaves; They glare from the abyss :They cry, from unknown graves, We are the Witnesses ! *. THE QUADROON GIRL. The Slaver in the broad lagoonLay 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 slideInto the still bavou. 190 POEMS ON SLAVERY. Odours of orange-flowers, and spice,Reached them from time to time, Like airs that breathe from ParadiseUpon a world of crime. The Planter, under his roof of thatch,Smoked thoughtfully and slow; The Slavers 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 T
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Keywords: ., bookauthorlongfellowhenrywadswo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850
