The Black Man (Brown)/Frances Ellen Watkins
FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS.
Miss Watkins is a native of Baltimore, where she received her education. She has been before the public some years as an author and public lecturer. Her "Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects," published in a small volume, show a reflective mind and no ordinary culture. Her "Essay on Christianity" is a beautiful composition. Many of her poems are soul-stirring, and all are characterized by chaste language and much thought. The following is entitled
THE SLAVE MOTHER.
'Heard you that shriek? It rose
So wildly on the air,
It seemed as if a burdened heart
Was breaking in despair.
Saw you those hands so sadly clasped,
The bowed and feeble head,
The shuddering of that fragile form,
That look of grief and dread?
Saw you the sad, imploring eye?
Its every glance was pain,
As if a storm of agony
Were sweeping through the brain.
She is a mother pale with fear;
Her boy clings to her side.
And in her kirtle vainly tries
His trembling form to hide.
He is not hers, although she bore
For him a mother's pains;
He is not hers, although her blood
Is coursing through his veins.
He is not hers, for cruel hands
May rudely tear apart
The only wreath of household love
That binds her breaking heart.
His love has been a joyous light
That o'er her pathway smiled,
A fountain, gushing ever new,
Amid life's desert wild.
His lightest word has been a tone
Of music round her heart;
Their lives a streamlet blent in one—
O Father, must they part?
They tear him from her circling arms,
Her last and fond embrace;
O, never more may her sad eyes
Gaze on his mournful face.
No marvel, then, these bitter shrieks
Disturb the listening air;
She is a mother, and her heart
Is breaking in despair.
Miss Watkins's advice to her own sex on the selection of a husband should be appreciated by all.
Nay, do not blush! I only heard
You had a mind to marry;
I thought I'd speak a friendly word;
So just one moment tarry.
Wed not a man whose merit lies
In things of outward show,
In raven hair or flashing eyes,
That please your fancy so.
But marry one who's good and kind,
And free from all pretence;
Who, if without a gifted mind,
At least has common sense.
Miss Watkins is about thirty years of age, of a fragile form, rather nervous, keen and witty in conversation, outspoken in her opinions, and yet appears in all the simplicity of a child.