THE FUGITIVE SLAVE'S APOSTROPHE TO THE NORTH STAR

STAR of the North! though night winds drift

The fleecy drapery of the sky Between thy lamp and me, I lift,

Yea, lift with hope, my sleepless eye

To the blue heights wherein thou dwellest,

And of a land of freedom tellest.

Nor faithless man, whose burning lust
For gold hath riveted my chain;
Nor other leader can I trust,

But thee, of even the starry train;
For, all the host around thee burning,
Like faithless man, keep turning, turning.

I may not follow where they go:
Star of the North, I look to thee
While on I press; for well I know

Thy light and truth shall set me free; -
Thy light, that no poor slave deceiveth;
Thy truth, that all my soul believeth.

They of the East beheld the star

That over Bethlehem's manger glowed; With joy they hailed it from afar,

And followed where it marked the road,

Thy beam is on the glassy breast

Of the still spring, upon whose brink I lay my weary limbs to rest,

And bow my parching lips to drink.
Guide of the friendless negro's way,
I bless thee for this quiet ray!

In the dark top of southern pines

I nestled, when the driver's horn Called to the field, in lengthening lines, My fellows at the break of morn. And there I lay, till thy sweet face Looked in upon "my hiding-place."

The tangled cane-brake, where I crept

For shelter from the heat of noon, And where, while others toiled, I slept Till wakened by the rising moon, As its stalks felt the night wind free, Gave me to catch a glimpse of thee.