The Underground Railroad

The Underground Railroad

'T was the grey of the evening. A consorious spell
Came over my thoughts, as the shade o'er the dell;
For the spirit of liberty mantled the plain,
But wherever I moved was the clank of a chain.
The cattle were lowing and seeking their rest,
And songsters were flut'ring to roost or to nest;
But the slave was fast bound, and forbidden to see
The friends of his love, in the "land of the free."
This thought stirred my soul, and I vowed from that hour
To resist, or to flee from grim slavery's power.

Then I thought with delight of that hope of the slave,
The railroad that enter's Virginia's dark cave.
i sought it, and gave them my name for a seat;
Few and short were our words in the willow's retreat,
For the hounds were on scent. "Joe is Canada bound,"
Were the last words I heard as we went underground.

I looked back and sighed for the bright, sunny South,
As we entered that tunnel's sepulchral month;
'T was the land of my birth, 'twas the home of my Sue,
For the sake of my life, I was bidding adieu.
I thought of her tears, that were rapidly flowing
As I showed her my ticket, and said, "I am going."
She kissed me: I promised that kiss should remain,
Warm, glowing, and fresh, till I saw her again,
A freeman, unshackled, to greet her my bride,
My heart's richest treasure, companion, and pride.

That moment, portentious of hope and despair,
Is a talisman yet to endure and to dare,
To seek every blessing by heaven designed,
And sunder the chains that are forced on mankind.

The depot is dreary; no ladies saloon,
No mirror nor couch, nor embroidered festoon:
A sort of "close quarters"—no daylight could enter,
But liberty guiding, I feared not to venture.
The cars were a rickety set—a proviso—
Not Wilmot's but Torrey's or some ex-officio.
The seats were uncushioned, and could I have seen,
I would tell if the curtains were crimson or green.
The conductor came in—we were told he was white;
But into that tunnel no sun or moon light
Could enter, and color depends on the ray
That falls on the object; but to judge by the way
He treated us negroes—poor fugitive slaves,
Now running through mountains, then buffeting waves—
I should say he was white, for the hue of the soul
Is defined by the will, or the spirit's control.

Our first stopping-place was the city of Penn,
Whose benificent mantle still rests on its men;
And their earnest "God speed" to the fugitive train,
Was music as sweet as the flagelet's strain.
Thence we urged on our course with the north star our guide,
Till we reached the St. Lawrence, whose waters divide
The "land of the free"—for the white man, I mean—
From the land that in fealty bows to a Queen.

Here now is my home: it is simple but kind,
For here is Susannah, whom I left behind.
Do you ask how she got here? The answer is plain—
She came through, one night, in the underground train.
Here we talk o'er that scene of the shadowing tree,
And close every day with the song, I am free! 

J.J.

1:52, p. 4

7.14.1860