English

HIS ANCESTRY

Tribe surnamed the Arradas, A
Sojourned for years, on Africa's
Southwestern coast.
Men of physique and strength of mind,
Excelling others of their kind
Among a host.

Gaou-Gwinou, the chieftain's heir,
Hunting the wild beast in his lair,
With ruthless hand,
Was seized, and hurried to the hold
Of a black ship, thence to be sold
By slaver band.

For Hayti's Isle, the ship was bound,
Which years before the Spaniards found —

Have I not seen the hills of Candahar
Clothed in the fury of a thunder storm,
When Majesty rolled in His cloud-dark car —
Wreathed His dread brow with lightning's livid form,
And with a deluge robed His threat'ning arm!
Not seen, when night fled His terrific feet,
The great deep rose to utter forth alarm,
The hills in dreadful hurry rushed to meet,
And rocking mountains started from their darkened seat!

In happy childhood I have even loved
To sport the wild, and in the front and face

Hail! home of exiles and of Seminoles!
Hail! Mexico, thou weak but goodly land!
The Day of Freedom onward grandly rolls,
And thou shalt yet receive the greeting hand
Of her, who once did like a vulture stand,
To gorge upon thy sons by slave power slain!
The world's respect, ere long thou shalt command;
And when the hosts of Freedom come amain;
Thy sons shall join their shouts ascending from the plain!

XLI

Those who once came upon thee with the sword,

Thus, San Augustine's church and prison joined,
Fitly portrayed crime's eminent success;
When hounds and murderous troops were loosed to find
The unsuspecting exile, and to press
The wretched Seminole from his recess
In hommock far, or by the dark bayou;
To burn his corn-fields in the wilderness,
And drag the helpless child and mother, thro'
Infested swamps to die in chains as felons do.

LXXII

Start not! the church and prison are our text.
The Seminole and exile far removed

Dark rose the walls, a church and prison joined,
Their kindred glooms to blend and intermix.
Dungeon'd in one, the unknown victim pined,
And in the other mid quaint candlesticks,
Sombre and weird arose a crucifix:
How fitly these portrayed the men who built
A house of God o'ershadowed by old Nick's —
Vain man, to thus offend thy Maker! wilt
Thou look on images to take away thy guilt!

LXVIII

How slight the transit superstition makes
From common crime to acts of righteousness!

I never was a slave — a robber took
My substance — what of that? The law my rights —
And that? I still was free and had my book —
All nature. And I learned from during hights
How silence is majestic, and invites
In admiration far beholding eyes!
And heaven taught me, with her starry nights,
How deepest speech unuttered often lies,
And that Jehovah's lessons mostly he implies.

XII

My birth-place where the scrub-wood thicket grows,
My mother bound, and daily toil my dower;
I envy not the halo title throws

Is manhood less because man's face is black?
Let thunders of the loosened seals reply!
Who shall the rider's restive steed turn back,
Or who withstand the arrows he lets fly,
Between the mountains of eternity?
Genius ride forth! thou gift and torch of heav'n!
The mastery is kindled in thine eye;
To conquest ride! thy bow of strength is giv'n —
The trampled hordes of caste before thee shall be driv'n!

V

Who is't would beg? What man permission crave

" Come now, my love, the moon is on the lake; "
Upon the waters is my light canoe;
Come with me, love, and gladsome oars shall make
A music on the parting wave for you, —
Come o'er the waters deep and dark and blue;
Come where the lilies in the marge have sprung,
Come with me, love, for Oh, my love is true! "
This is the song that on the lake was sung,
The boatman sang it over when his heart was young.

XXXIV

The boatman's song is hushed; the night is still,

Upon the shells by Carribea's wave
I've heard the anthems of the mighty sea;
Heard there the dark pines that their voices gave,
And heard a stream denote its minstrelsy —
How sweet, all lonely, was it there to be!
The stars were bright, the moon was up and clear;
But, when I thought of those who once were free,
And came at wonted times to worship there;
The sea's deep voice grew sad and claimed of me a tear!

XIX

Oh! sing it in the light of freedom's morn,

Poet hath a realm within, and throne, The
And in his own soul singeth his lament.
A comer often in the world unknown —
A flaming minister to mortals sent;
In an apocalypse of sentiment
He shows in colors true the right or wrong,
And lights the soul of virtue with content;
Oh! could the world without him please us long?
What truth is there that lives and does not live in song?

II

" The stuff's in him of robust manliness,
He is a poet, singing more by ear