Would yield no more; but, sinking on the ground,
A respite from his cares in sleep he found:
Close at his side his dog was seen to creep,
And stretch his form, but only feign'd to sleep.
When now wan'd drowsy night, and naught was heard,
Save the hearth cricket, and ill-omen'd bird,
When the poor bondsman, ceasing now to weep,
Forgot his chains and wretchedness in sleep, 1800
With rude approach, beatings assail'd the door,
From clamorous men, who in their anger swore.
The negress, waking, silent sought the ground
Where lay the runaway in sleep profound;
His head upon his arm, his form stretch'd wide,
Watch'd by his comrade, who the dame defied.
Soothing his growling warder with her hand,
She shook the boy, and bade him flee the land:
Up, up, away! if freedom, life, be dear―
Whites at the door suspect that thou art here! 1810
Half-rais'd he turn'd his drowsy head each way,
Uncertain whether it were night or day;
While still rebuk'd, as o'er his form she hung,
The sable matron, voluble of tongue :
Rise and begone! a rash, pursuing band
Storm at the door, to bind thee foot and hand—
Hark at the hue and cry! I draw no breath
If Flint be'nt there, who whipp'd old Cuff to death.
Pass through the window, and the river gain,
While I with plausive tale their ear detain.
Uprose the boy, for now more clamorous grew
The hands and voices of the out-door crew,
And glancing through the opening in the wall,
Light on the ground his cautious footsteps fall.
Half flying, and half footing, in his haste,
He seeks the succour of the watery waste,
And, heav'n invoking, gain'd the river-tide,
His spotted comrade pressing by his side.
With short, thick breathing, for awhile he stood,
And view'd the starry splendours of the flood, 1830
But, ere his body in the stream he throws,
Thus pours his earnest, supplicating vows:
O friendly river, on thy wafting flood,
Bear me from those who burn to shed my blood;
My scatter'd garments on thy bosom lie,
And naked to thy arms for help I fly.
He said, and plung'd beneath the darkling tide,
By Tray attended, swimming at his side.
Desperate he cleaves the flood, for, now around,
Near and yet nearer swells the thick'ning sound
Of his pursuers fell, who, as they run
Along the river's margin, flash the gun.
Fast hail'd the volley'd shot, and falling gave
An eddying motion to the silver wave;
Now like a duck he plunges, and o'erhead
The murmuring surges rapid circles spread.
Mercy they offer would he come on shore-
Their mercy's marks his flesh already bore-
Nerv'd with disdain he triumphs over fear,
Resolv'd to make the flood his bridge or bier, 1850
While their rude war-whoop, and appalling cry,
Shake the wide river's banks, and echo to the sky.
Where with the river blends the streamlet bright,
Its surface silver'd with the moon's soft light,
At its full rippling mouth a shallop lay,
Some fisher's dredge boat, dancing on the spray.
Prone on the tide one of the party flung,
Shot to the skiff, and on the gunwale hung;
The mooring cut, and plying fast an oar,
Receiv'd his comrades erowding from the shore.
Now rising on their seats, the shouting throng
Row at full stretch-the shallop flies along-
Behind a glorious moonshine track succeeds,
As pathways whiten through the verdant meads.
Buck held the helm, a wight of fifty years,
Raw-bon'd and sallow-melted ne'er by tears-
A hunter fam'd, to Daniel Boon* allied
By inter-marriage, and in peril tried.
A pouch and horn were to his peag-belt slung,
His rifle o'er his shoulders careless hung,
The barrel bright, the flint to murder true,
And his fell tomahawk was ground anew;
Swaying the tiller, as upright he stood,
He look'd Revenge in meditative mood.
Whooping and laughing, ply'd the sternmost oar
Bird Hyacinth, from Rappahannock's shore;
A hair-brain'd spark, of quick and subtle glance,
Less frequent at a chapel, than a dance;
A wicked rake, whom every prudish lass
Inveigh'd against, but dress'd for at her glass;
Daniel Boon was the first white man who traversed the tract called the Wilderness, and from the summit of Cumberland mountain descried the beautiful landscape of Kentucky.
A carding, dicing, cogging, foisting blade,
A boy-centaur-chirurgeon* by trade:
So heedless, that in danger he was gay,
As children unconcern'd on rivers play.
An unbeliever, profligate, profane,
The priest exhorted, but his toil was vain--
Dwelt on regeneration and new birth,
But only rais'd the laughing devil's mirth.
On the next thwart a sober man inclin'd,
Of abstract air, and eloquence refin'd,
And as he press'd the oar with gentle hand,
The handle ruffled oft his lawyer's band.
Tugging in time, with open, shaggy breast,
Behind him sat a rogue in face confest,
With blood-shot eye, and whiskers fierce and long,
Who from a lack of thought, indulg'd in song;
And, as with stubborn arm, he flash'd the flood,
“Fire in the mountains!" sang in roaring mood.
The next seat held a wretch to Satan dear,
A horrid monster, call'd an Overseer,†
Candidates for medical fame abound in the Southern States, and the wildest creature imaginable is a young Virginian doctor. There are generally a hundred, or more, attending the Lectures at Philadelphia; where the Quakers have named them the Centaurs ; and when a riot takes place at the theatre, the city wags are sure to exclaim" Turn out the Virginia doctors!"
+ An Overseer is an inexorable wretch who stands over the negroes at work on a plantation, with a huge whip in his hand.
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