Page:Poems on slavery (IA poemsonslavery00long).pdf/37

But the voice of nature was too weak;
 He took the glittering gold!
Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek,
 Her hands as icy cold.

The Slaver led her from the door,
 He led her by the hand,
To be his slave and paramour
 In a strange and distant land!