He did not feel the driver's whip, For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, And his lifeless body lay A worn-out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away! THE GOOD PART, THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY. SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, In valleys green and cool; And all her hope and all her pride Are in the village school. Her soul, like the transparent air All things with arms of love. And thus she walks among her girls With praise and mild rebukes; Subduing e'en rude village churls By her angelic looks. She reads to them at eventide To cast the captive's chains aside And oft the blessed time foretells And musical, as silver bells, Their falling chains shall be. And following her beloved Lord, In decent poverty, She makes her life one sweet recort And deed of charity. For she was rich, and gave up all To break the iron bands Of those who waited in her hall, Long since beyond the Southern Sea While she, in meek humility, It is their prayers, which never cease, That clothe her with such grace; Their blessing is the light of peace That shines upon her face. THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp The hunted Negro lay ; He saw the fire of the midnight camp, And a bloodhound's distant bay. Where will-o'-the-wisps and glowworms shine, In bulrush and in brake; Where waving mosses shroud the pine, And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine Is spotted like the snake; |