The yells of triumph and despair- The streams that crimson to the sea!
Sleep calmly in thy dungeon-tomb, Beneath Besançon's alien sky,
Dark Haytien !—for the time shall come, Yea, even now is nigh-
When, every where, thy name shall be Redeemed from color's infamy;
And men shall learn to speak of thee, As one of earth's great spirits, born In servitude, and nursed in scorn, Casting aside the weary weight And fetters of its low estate,
In that strong majesty of soul,
Which knows no color, tongue or climeWhich still hath spurned the base control Of tyrants through all time!
Far other hands than mine may wreath The laurel round thy brow of death, And speak thy praise, as one whose word A thousand fiery spirits stirred,- Who crushed his foeman as a worm- Whose step on human hearts fell firm :- Be mine the better task to find A tribute for thy lofty mind,
Amidst whose gloomy vengeance shone Some milder virtues all thine own,- Some gleams of feeling pure and warm, Like sunshine on a sky of storm,— Proofs that the Negro's heart retains Some nobleness amidst its chains,— That kindness to the wronged is never Without its excellent reward,- Holy to human-kind, and ever Acceptable to God.
-That fatal, that perfidious bark, Built i' the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark." Milton's Lycidas.
“ ALL ready ?” cried the captain ; !" the seamen said; "Heave up the worthless lubbers— The dying and the dead.”
Up from the slave-ship's prison
Fierce, bearded heads were thrust"Now let the sharks look to itToss up the dead ones first!"
Corpse after corpse came up,- Death had been busy there; Where every blow is mercy, Why should the spoiler spare? Corpse after corpse they cast Sullenly from the ship, Yet bloody with the traces Of fetter-link and whip.
Gloomily stood the captain,
With his arms upon his breast, With his cold brow sternly knotted, And his iron lip compressed. "Are all the dead dogs over?" Growled through that matted lip- "The blind ones are no better, Let's lighten the good ship.”
Hark! from the ship's dark bosom, The very sounds of hell!
The ringing clank of iron
The maniac's short, sharp yell!— The hoarse, low curse, throat-stifledThe starving infant's moan—
The horror of a breaking heart Poured through a mother's groan
Up from that loathsome prison The stricken blind ones came : Below, had all been darkness Above, was still the same. Yet the holy breath of heaven Was sweetly breathing there, And the heated brow of fever Cooled in the soft sea air.
“Overboard with them, shipmates! Cutlass and dirk were plied; Fettered and blind, one after one, Plunged down the vessel's side. The sabre smote above-
Beneath, the lean shark lay, Waiting with wide and bloody jaw His quick and human prey.
God of the earth! what cries Rang upward unto Thee ? Voices of agony and blood, From ship-deck and from sea. The last dull plunge was heard— The last wave caught its stain— And the unsated shark looked up For human hearts in vain.
Red glowed the western waters— The setting sun was there, Scattering alike on wave and cloud
His fiery mesh of hair.
Amidst a group in blindness,
Gazed, from the burdened slaver's deck,
Into that burning sky.
"A storm," spoke out the gazer, "Is gathering and at hand— Curse on't-I'd give my other eye For one firm rood of land.” And then he laughed-but only His echoed laugh replied- For the blinded and the suffering Alone were at his side.
Night settled on the waters, And on a stormy heaven,
While fiercely on that lone ship's track The thunder-gust was driven. "A sail!-thank God, a sail!" And as the helmsman spoke, Up through the stormy murmur, A shout of gladness broke.
Down came the stranger vessel Unheeding on her way,
So near, that on the slaver's deck Fell off her driven spray. "Ho! for the love of mercy- We're perishing and blind! A wail of utter agony
Help us! for we are stricken With blindness every one; Ten days we've floated fearfully, Unnoting star or sun.
Our ship's the slaver Leon
We've but a score on boardOur slaves are all gone overHelp-for the love of God!"
On livid brows of agony
The broad red lightning shone
But the roar of wind and thunder Stifled the answering groan. Wailed from the broken waters A last despairing cry,
As, kindling in the stormy light, The stranger ship went by.
In the sunny Guadaloupe A dark hulled vessel lay- With a crew who noted never The night-fall or the day. The blossom of the orange
Was white by every stream, And tropic leaf, and flower, ana bird Were in the warm sun-beam.
And the sky was bright as ever, And the moonlight slept as well, On the palm-trees by the hill-side, And the streamlet of the dell: And the glances of the Creole Were still as archly deep, And her smiles as full as ever Of passion and of sleep.
But vain were bird and blossom, The green earth and the sky, And the smile of human faces, To the slaver's darkened eye; At the breaking of the morning, At the star-lit evening time, O'er a world of light and beauty, Fell the blackness of his crime.
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