POETRY. 727 



THE NEGRO'S HOME AND COUNTRY. 



[^From the same.'] 



And is the Negro outlaw'd from his birth? 



Is he alone a stranger on the earth ? 



Is there no shed whose peeping roof appears 



So lovely that it fills his eyes with tears? 



No land, whose name in exile heard, will dart 



Ice through his veins and lightning through his heart ? 



Ah ! yes ; beneath the beams of brighter skies, 



His home amidst his father's country lies; 



There with the partner of his soul he shares 



Love-mingled pleasures, love-divided cares ; 



There, as with nature's warmest filial fire, 



He soothes his blind, and feeds his helpless sire ; 



His children sporting round his hut behold 



How they shall cherish him when he is old, 



Train'd by example from their tenderest youth 



To deeds of charity and words of truth. 



— Is he not bless'd ? Behold at closing day. 



The negro-village swarms abroad to play; 



He treads the dance through half its rapturous rounds, 



To the wild music of barbarian sounds ! 



Or stretch'd at ease, where broad palmettos shower 



Delicious coolness on his shadowy bower. 



He feasts on tales of witchcraft, that gave birth 



To breathless wonder, or ecstatic mirth ; 



Yet most delighted, when, in rudest rhymes, 



The minstrel wakes the song of elder times. 



When men were heroes, slaves to Beauty's charms, 



And all the joys of life were love and arms. 



—Is not the Negro blest ? His gen'rous soil 



With harvest-plenty crowns his simple toil ; 



More than his wants his flocks and field afford ; 



He loves to greet the stranger at his board : 



" The winds were roaring, and the White Man fled ; 



" The rains of night descended on his head ; 



" The poor White Man sat down beneath our tree, 



<' Weary and faint and far from home was he ; 



" For him no mother fills with milk the bowl, 



'« No wife prepares the bread to cheer his soul : 



« — Pity the poor White Man, who sought our tree, 



" No wife, no mother, and no home has he." 



Thus sung the Negro's daughters ;— once again, 



O, that the poor White Man might hear that strain ! 



— Whether the victim of the treach'rous Moor ; 



Or from the Negro's hospital door 



