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These are the bones of Slaves ;

They gleam from the abyss ;
They cry, from yawning waves,

“ We are the Witnesses"

Within Earth's wide domains

Are markets for men's lives ;
Teir necks are galled with chains,

Their wrists are cramped with gyves

Dead bodies, that the kite

In deserts makes its prey;
Murders, that with affright

Scare schoolboys from their play!

All evil thoughts and deeds;

Anger, and lust, and pride;
The foulest, rankest weeds,

That choke Life's groaning tidel

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These are the woes of Slaves;

They glare from the abyss; They cry, from unknown graves,

We are the Witnesses."

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The Slaver in the broad lagoou

Lay moored with idle sail; He waited for the rising moon,

And for the evening gale.

Under the shore his boat was tiech

And all her listless crew Watched the gray alligator slide

Into the still bayou.

Odors of orange-flowers, and spice,

Reached them from time to time, Like airs that breathe from Paradise

Upon a world of crime.



The Planter, under his roof of thatch,

Smoked thoughtfully and slow; The Slaver's thumb was on the latch,

He seemed in haste to go.

He said, “ My ship at anchor rides

In yonder broad lagoon;
I only wait the evening tides,

And the rising of the moon."

Before them, with her lace upraised

In timid attitude,
Like one half curious, half amazed,

A Quadroon maiden stood.

Her eyes were, like a falcon's, gray

Her arms and neck were bare ;
No garment she wore save a kirtle gay,

And her own long, ; even hair.

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And on her lips there played a smile

As holy, meek, and faint,
As light in some cathedral aisle

The features of a saint.

* The soil is barren,—the farm is old;'

The thoughtful Planter said;
Then looked upon the Slaver's gold,

And then upon the maid.

His heart within him was at strife

With such accursed gains; For he knew whose passions gave her life,

Whose blood ran in her veins.

But the voice of nature was too weak;

He took the glittering gold ! Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, Her hands as icy cold.

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