Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/88

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82
THE RUNAWAY SLAVE.

XXVIII.

And thus we two were reconciled,
The white child and black mother, thus:
For, as I sang it, soft and wild
The same song, more melodious,
Rose from the grave whereon I sate!
It was the dead child singing that,
To join the souls of both of us.


XXIX.

I look on the sea and the sky!
Where the pilgrims' ships first anchored lay,
The free sun rideth gloriously;
But the pilgrim-ghosts have slid away
Through the earliest streaks of the morn.
My face is black, but it glared with a scorn
Which they dare not meet by day.


XXX.

Ah!—in their 'stead, their hunter sons!
Ah, ah! they are on me—they hunt in a ring—
Keep off! I brave you all at once—
I throw off your eyes like snakes that sting!
You have killed the black eagle at nest, I think:
Did you never stand still in your triumph, and shrink
From the stroke of her wounded wing?


XXXI.

(Man, drop that stone you dared to lift!—)

I wish you, who stand there five a-breast,