THE AFRICAN CHIEF. CHAINED in the market-place he stood, A man of giant frame, Amid the gathering multitude That shrunk to hear his name All stern of look and strong of limb, As on a lion bound. Vainly, but well, that chief had fought, He was a captive now, Yet pride, that fortune humbles not, Was written on his brow. The scars his dark broad bosom wore, Showed warrior true and brave; A prince among his tribe before, He could not be a slave. Then to his conqueror he spake "My brother is a king; Undo this necklace from my neck, And take this bracelet ring, And send me where my brother reigns, And I will fill thy hands With store of ivory from the plains, And gold-dust from the sands." "Not for thy ivory nor thy gold That bloody hand shall never hold A price thy nation never gave Shall yet be paid for thee; For thou shalt be the Christian's slave, In lands beyond the sea." Then wept the warrior chief, and bade To shred his locks away; And one by one, each heavy braid Before the victor lay. Thick were the platted locks, and long, And closely hidden there Shone many a wedge of gold among The dark and crisped hair. "Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold Long kept for sorest need: P Take it thou askest sums untold, And say that I am freed. Take it-my wife, the long, long day, Weeps by the cocoa-tree, And my young children leave their play, And ask in vain for me." "I take thy gold—but I have made His heart was broken-crazed his brain: Yet wore not long those fatal bands, The foul hyena's prey. SPRING IN TOWN. THE Country ever has a lagging Spring, Within the city's bounds the time of flowers Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May, For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then And they who search the untrodden wood for flowers Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours. For here are eyes that shame the violet, And thick about those lovely temples lie Locks that the lucky Vignardonne has curled, Thrice happy man! whose trade it is to buy, And bake, and braid those love-knots of the world; Who curls of every glossy colour keepest, And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest. And well thou mayst-for Italy's brown maids Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed, And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids, Crop half, to buy a riband for the rest ; But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare, And the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair, Then, henceforth, let no maid nor matron grieve, Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give Such piles of curls as nature never knew. Eve, with her veil of tresses, at the sight Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright |