POETRY. 729 



He starts in horror from bewild'ring dreams, 



His bloodshot eye with fire and frenzy gleams ; 



He stalks abroad ; through all his wonted rounds, 



The negro trembles, and the lash resounds, 



And cries of anguish shrilling through the air 



To distant fields his dread approach declare. 



Mark, as he passes, every head declined ; 



Then slowly raised,— to curse him from behind. 



This is the veriest wretch on nature's face ; 



Own'd by no country, spurn'd by every race ; 



The tether'd tyrant of one narrow span, 



The bloated vampire of a living man ; 



His frame — a fungus form, of dunghill birth, 



That taints the air, and rots above the earth ; 



His soul ; — has he a soul, whose sensual breast 



Of selfish passions is a serpent's nest ? 



Who follows headlong, ignorant, and blind. 



The vague brute-instinct of an idiot mind ; 



Whose heart midst scenes of suffering senseless grown,. 



E'en in his mother's lap was chill'd to stone ; 



Whose torpid pulse no social feelings move ; 



A stranger to the tenderness of love. 



His motley harem charms his gloating eye. 



Where ebon, brown, and olive beauties vie ; 



His children, sprung alike from sloth and vice, 



Are born his slaves, and loved at market price : 



Has he a soul ? — With his departing breath, 



A form shall hail hira at the gates of death. 



The spectre Conscience,— shrieking through the gloom, 



" Man we shall meet again beyond the tomb." 



CHRISTIAN NEGROES. 



[^From the same.'] 



And thou, poor Negro ! scorn'd of all mankind ; 

 Thou dumb and impotent, and deaf and blind ; 

 Thou dead in spirit ! toil-degraded slave, 

 Crush'd by the curse on Adam to the grave ! 

 The messengers of peace o'er land and sea. 

 That sought the sons of sorrow, stoop'd to thee. 



The captive raised his slow and sullen eye ; 



He knew no friend, nor deem'd a friend was nigh. 



Till the sweet tones of pity touch'd his ears. 



And mercy bathed his bosom with her tears ; 



Strange were those tones, to him those tears were strange, 



He wept and wonder'd at the mighty change, 



