The Slave

The Slave

Wide over the tremulous sea

The moon spread her mantle of light,

And the gale, gently dying away,

Breathed soft on the bosom of night.

By the sea-side a panting slave stood,

And poured forth his pitiful tale;

His tears were unseen in the flood,

His sighs were unheard in the gale.

"Ah! wretch!" in wild anguish he cried,

From friends and from liberty torn!

Ah! Alfred, would thou hadst died,

Before from thy home thou wert borne!

"Through groves at pleasure I strayed,

Love and hope made my bosom their home;

There I talked with my wife and my babe,

Nor thought of the anguish to come.

"From thicket the man-stealer sprang,

My cry echoed loud through the air;

There was nothing but death in his eye,

He was cold to the tones of despair.

"But hart! in the silence of night,

The voices of lovd ones I hear,

And sadly, beneath the wan light,

I see their fair forms drawing near.

"Swift o'er the smooth water they glide,

As the mist that hangs over the sea;

My chains I will give to the waves,

And rush to thee, sweet liberty!

Unattributed

1:33, p. 1

3.3.1860