The Slaves of Martinique

BEAMS of noon, like burning lances, through thetree-tops flash and glisten,As she stands before her lover, with raised face tolook and listen.

Dark, but comely, like the maiden in the ancientJewish songScarcely has the toil of task-fields done her gracefulbeauty wrong.

He, the strong one and the manly, with the vassal'sgarb and hue,Holding still his spirit's birthright, to his highernature true;

Hiding deep the strengthening purpose of a freemanin his heart,As the gregree holds his Fetich from the whiteman's gaze apart.

Ever foremost of his comrades, when the driver'smorning hornCalls away to stifling mill-house, to the fields ofcane and corn.

Fall the keen and burning lashes never on his backor limb;Scarce with look or word of censure, turns thedriver unto him.

Yet, his brow is always thoughtful, and his eye ishard and stern;Slavery's last and humblest lesson he has neverdeigned to learn.

And, at evening, when his comrades dance beforetheir master's door,Folding arms and knitting forehead, stands hesilent evermore.

God be praised for every instinct which rebelsagainst a lotWhere the brute survives the human, and man'supright form is not!

As the serpent-like bejuco winds his spiral foldon foldRound the tall and stately ceiba, till it withers inhis hold;

Slow decays the forest monarch, closer girds thefell embrace,Till the tree is seen no longer, and the vine is inits place;

So a base and bestial nature round the vassal'smanhood twines,And the spirit wastes beneath it, like the ceibachoked with vines.

God is Love, saith the Evangel; and our world ofwoe and sinIs made light and happy only when a Love isshining in.

Ye whose lives are free as sunshine, finding, where-soe'er ye roam,Smiles of welcome, looks of kindness, making allthe world like home;

In the veins of whose affections kindred blood isbut a part.,Of one kindly current throbbing from the universalheart;

Can ye know the deeper meaning of a love in Slaverynursed,Last flower of a lost Eden, blooming in that Soilaccursed?

Love of Home, and Love of Woman!--dear to all,but doubly dearTo the heart whose pulses elsewhere measure onlyhate and fear.

All around the desert circles, underneath a brazensky,Only one green spot remaining where the dew isnever dry!

From the horror of that desert, from its atmosphereof hell,Turns the fainting spirit thither, as the diver seekshis bell.

'T is the fervid tropic noontime; faint and low thesea-waves beat;Hazy rise the inland mountains through the glimmerof the heat,--

Where, through mingled leaves and blossoms,arrowy sunbeams flash and glisten,Speaks her lover to the slave-girl, and she lifts herhead to listen:--

"We shall live as slaves no longer! Freedom'shour is close at hand!Rocks her bark upon the waters, rests the boatupon the strand!

"I have seen the Haytien Captain; I have seenhis swarthy crew,Haters of the pallid faces, to their race and colortrue.

"They have sworn to wait our coming till the nighthas passed its noon,And the gray and darkening waters roll above thesunken moon!"

Oh, the blessed hope of freedom! how with joyand glad surprise,For an instant throbs her bosom, for an instantbeam her eyes!

But she looks across the valley, where her mother'shut is seen,Through the snowy bloom of coffee, and the lemon-leaves so green.

And she answers, sad and earnest: "It were wrongfor thee to stay;God hath heard thy prayer for freedom, and hisfinger points the way.

"Well I know with what endurance, for the sakeof me and mine,Thou hast borne too long a burden never meantfor souls like thine.

"Go; and at the hour of midnight, when our lastfarewell is o'er,Kneeling on our place of parting, I will bless theefrom the shore.

"But for me, my mother, lying on her sick-bedall the day,Lifts her weary head to watch me, coming throughthe twilight gray.

"Should I leave her sick and helpless, even freedom,shared with thee,Would be sadder far than bondage, lonely toil, andstripes to me.

"For my heart would die within me, and my brainwould soon be wild;I should hear my mother calling through the twilightfor her child!"

Blazing upward from the ocean, shines the sun ofmorning-time,Through the coffee-trees in blossom, and greenhedges of the lime.

Side by side, amidst the slave-gang, toil the loverand the maid;Wherefore looks he o'er the waters, leaning forwardon his spade?

Sadly looks he, deeply sighs he: 't is the Haytien'ssail he sees,Like a white cloud of the mountains, driven seawardby the breeze.

But his arm a light hand presses, and he hears alow voice callHate of Slavery, hope of Freedom, Love is mightierthan all.