The noble horse,
That, in his fiery youth, from his wide nostrils
Neighed courage to his rider, and brake through
Groves of opposed pikes, bearing his lord
Safe to triumphant victory, old or wounded,
Was set at liberty and freed from service.
The Athenian mules, that from the quarry drew
Marble, hewed for the Temple of the Gods,
The great work ended, were dismissed and fed
At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found
Their sepulchres; but inan, to man more cruel,
Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave.

MASSINGER

TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING.

THE

pages of thy book I read,
And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,
“ Servant of God! well done!

Well done! Thy words are great and bold;

At times they seem to me, Like Luther's, in the days of old,

Half-battles for the free.

Go on, until this and revokes

The old and chartered Lie. The feucal curse. whos- whips and yokes

Insult humanity.

A voice is ever at thy side

Speaking in tunes of might,
Like the prophetic voice, that cried

To John in Patmos, “ Write:'

Write! and tell out his bloody tale;

Record this dire eclipse,
This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail,

This dread Apocalypse !

Beside the ungathered rice he lay,

His sickle in his hand;
His breast was bare, his matted hair

Was buried in the sand.
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep.

He saw his Native Land.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams

The lordly Niger flowed;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode; And heard the tinhling caravans

Descend the mountain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen

Among her children stand;
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,

They held him by the hand l-
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids

And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode

Along the Niger's bank;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,

And, with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of

steel Smiting his stallion's flank

THE SLAVE'S DREAM

277

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew; From morn till night he followed their flight

O’er plains where the tamarind grew, Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,

And the ocean rose to view,

At night he heard the lion roar,

And the hyæna scream, And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds

Beside some hidden stream; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,

Through the triumph of his dreams.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,

Shouted of liberty;
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,

With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled

At their tempestuous glee.