The African's Dream

The African's Dream

There were bright vision's in my dreams,

Sights of my native land -

How beautiful her bonny streams,

Flowing o'er golden sand -

How beautiful the flowers beside,
Stooping to drink their silver tide.

My old companions bounding came

From bamboo huts and bowers,

To press my hand and call my name,

And talk of boyhood's hours -

And there was one, my country's pride,
My heart seemed bursting when she died.

That wife, the faithful and the fair,

Came with her lovely face -

With well known voice, and cheerful air

She rushed to my embrace,

And pressed my lips, while smiles and tears
Stole from my heart the grief of years.

Brothers and sisters, kindred, all,

With the sweet voice and eye,

Welcomed the lost one from his thrall,

To native land and sky;

Their tears of pity, fast and warm,
Fell as they marked my scar-wreathed form.

Why did ye wake me from my sleep,

To unavailing tears!

My heart is o'er the mighty deep,

Mid scenes of other years:

Better that I had waked no more,
Or died upon my own bright shore.

Well, I shall weep - and toil - and die!

Then, when my soul is free,

How quickly will it soar and fly

My native land, to thee!

There I shall roam as free as air,
With the loved ones that wait me there.

Unattributed

New Series 2:5, p. 20

1841.04.03

From the Vermont Chronicle