"The gods at last pay well," So Hellas sang her taunting song, "The fisher in his net is caught, The Chian hath his master bought"; And isle from isle, with laughter long, Took up and sped the mocking parable. Once more the slow, dumb years. And, more than Hellas taught of old, Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears. SA THE PROCLAMATION. AINT PATRICK, slave to Milcho of the herds Out from the land of bondage, and be free! Glad as a soul in pain, who hears from heaven And, wondering, sees His prison opening to their golden keys, He rose a man who laid him down a slave, Into the glorious liberty of God. He cast the symbols of his shame away; Smarted with wrong, he prayed, "God pardon him!” THE PROCLAMATION. So went he forth: but in God's time he came The land a saint that lost him as a slave. O dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb Breaks the long silence of your night of wrong! Arise and flee! shake off the vile restraint Heap only on his head the coals of prayer. Go forth, like him! like him return again, And heal with freedom what your slavery cursed. 6 73 T AT PORT ROYAL. 'HE tent-lights glimmer on the land, The ship-lights on the sea; The night-wind smooths with drifting sand Our track on lone Tybee. At last our grating keels outslide, Our good boats forward swing; And while we ride the land-locked tide, AT PORT ROYAL. For dear the bondman holds his gifts The power to make his toiling days Another glow than sunset's fire Has filled the West with light, The land is wild with fear and hate, The lurid glow falls strong across With oar-strokes timing to their song, The triumph-note that Miriam sung, SONG OF THE NEGRO BOATMEN. O, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come An' massa tink it day ob doom, An' we ob jubilee. 75 76 NATIONAL LYRICS. De Lord dat heap de Red-Sea waves He say de word: we las' night slaves; De yam will grow, de cotton blow, O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear Ole massa on he trabbels gone; He leaf de land behind: De Lord's breff blow him furder on, But nebber chile be sold. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear We pray de Lord: he gib us signs De Norf-wind tell it to de pines, De wild-duck to de sea; We tink it when de church-bell ring, We dream it in de dream; De rice-bird mean it when he sing, De eagle when he scream. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear We know de promise nebber fail, An' nebber lie de word; So like de 'postles in de jail, We waited for de Lord: |