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 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 e'en 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 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 SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT.

LOUD he sang the psalm of David!

He, a Negro and enslaved,

Sang of Israel's victory,

Sang of Zion, bright and free.

In that hour, when night is calmest,

Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist,

In a voice so sweet and clear

That I could not choose but hear,

Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, Such as reached the swart Egyptians,

When upon the Red Sea coast

Perished Pharaoh and his host.