The Tiffin weekly tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1859-1868, 1862-01-24
Iitfia af'erklp Tribnnr.

tFrom the Atlantic Monthly for Fehrusry.l
AT FORT RoyAL--iset.
pI !. G. wnirrIEa.
The ten, lights glmncr on the land,
The stip.lish,s on the sea;
The night wind smooths with drifting sand
Our track on lone Tybse.
AZ last our grating kcels outside,
Our good boats forward swing;
Aud while we ride the land locked tide.
Our negroes row and sing.
For dear the bopdmsn holds his gifIs
ormusiS aud Of song:
The gold that kindly Nature sits
Among his sands Of wrong.
The power to make his telling days
Aud poor home comforts please;
The quaint relief Of mirlh that plays
With sorrows minor keys.
Another glow than sunsct's FIRE
Has filed the West with light.
Where field and garner. barn and bryS
Are blazing through the night.
The land is wild with fear and hate,
The rout rams mad and fast;
From hand to hand, from gate to gate,
The flaming brand is passed.
The lurid CLOS falls strong across
Dark faces broad with smiles;
Not theirs the terror, hate and loss
That Gre yon blazing piles.
With oar strokes timing to their song,
They weave in simple lays
The pathos of remembered wrong,
The hope Of better days
The triumph note that Miriam sung,
The joy Of uncngc6 birds
Softcning with Aries mellow tongue
Their broken Saxon words
isoNG or TIIE NEGRO HoATNAN.l
Ons nINlhc an lsOIu nc COinc
To stt de people free;
An massa tink Il day OBJ doom.
An we oh iubilce,
De Lord dat heap dc Red Sea waves
Hejus' as 'troRg as den;
He say de word; we las night slaves
To day, dc Lords frccmen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
Wo'il hab de rioe an corn;
Oh, ncbbcr YOU fear, ifnehber you hear
DE driver blow his horn
Ole massa on he trabbles gone;
He leab dc land behind,
De Lords BRET blow him hirdcr on,
Like corn shuck in de wind
Wcown de hoe, we own de plow,
Wecwn de hands dat hold,
We sell dc pig. we sell de COW,
But nebbcr child be sold
De yam viii grow, dc cotton blow,
Well hab de rice and corn.
Oh, nebbcr you fear, II nebber you heal
De driver blow his hornl
We pray de Lord: he gb US sigma
Dat some day we be free;
De Norf wind tell it to de pines,
De wild duck to de sen,
We tink it when dc church bell ring,
We dream it in de dream.
d rice bird mean it when he sing,
DE eagle when he scream.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
Wen hab de rice an corn,
Oh, nebbcr you fear, if you ncbber hea
De driver bow his hornl
We know do promise nebber fail,
An nebber lie de word,
Sn. like de 'postles in dc Jail,
We waited for de Lord,
An' now he opened cherry door,
An trow away de key,
He tink we luh him so before,
We lub him better free.
De yam will grow. de cotton blow,
He'll Glib de rice an corn,
Soneb,er you fear, Il nebbcr you hoa
Dc driver blow his horn.
SO sing our dusky gondo!lers,
And with a secret pain.
Aud smiles that seem akin to tears,
We hear the wild refrain.
We dare not share the negro's trust,
Nor yet his hopo deny.
We only know that God is just.
And every wrong shall die.
Rude seems the song, each swarthy face.
Flame lighted, ruder sill,
We start 10 think that lapless race
Must shape our good or III.
That laws Of chanseless Justice bind
oppressor with oppressed,
And, close as sin and suffering joined,
We march to Fate breast.
Sing on, poor heaFtsl your chant shall be
Our sign Of blight or bloom
The Vnla song of Liberty.
Or death.rune Of our dooml
Written for the Tribune.