Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1862-01-25
JN0rrester 9aiIg SPY.
4. From the Atlantic Monthly for February.
At Port ROyaI-IsG1.

From the Atlantic Monthly for February
At Port ROyaI-IsG1.
BY j. C. WHITTIER.
The tent-lights glimmer on the land,
The ship'lights on the sea-
The night wind smooths with drifting sand
Our track on lone Tybee.
AT last our grating keels outgide,
Our good boats forward swing;
And while we ride the land-lOcked tide,
Our negroes row and sing.
For dear the bondman holds his gifts
OF music and of song;
The gold that kindly Nature Sits
Among his sands OF wrong;
The power to make his toiling days
And poor hOme-comfOrts please;
The quaint relief OF mirth that plays
With sorrows minor keys.
Another glow than sunsets fire
Has filled the West with light,
Where field and garner, barn and byre
Are blazing through the night
The land is wild with fear and hate,
The rout runs mad and fast;
From hand to hand, from gate to gate,
The flaming brand is passed.
The lurid glow falls strong across
Dark faces broad with smiles;
Not theirs the terror. hate, and loss
That fire 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 uncaged birds;
SofteDing with Atric's mellow tongue
Their broken Saxon words.
[soNG OF THE NEGRO BoATMEN.l
Oh praise AM tanks! De Lord he come
10 set de people free;
AM massa tink it day OBJ doom,
Am we OBJ jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
lie JUS as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las night slaves;
Today de Lords freemen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
Wen hab dc rice am corn;
Oh, nebber you fear. ifneDber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
Ole massa on he trabbles gone;
lie Leah de land behnd
De Lords bref blow him furder on,
Like cOrn-shuck i'll de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de pillow,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig we sell de COW,
But nebber chile be sold.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
Wen hab de rice an corn;
Oh, nebber you fear, il nebberyou hear
DE driver blow his horn
We pray de Lord; he glib us signs
Dat some day we be free;
De Norl-wind tell it to de pines,
De wild duck to de sea;
We tink it when de church-bell ring,
We dream it in de dream;
De rice bird mean itwhen he sing,
DE eagle when he scream.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
Wen hab de rice am corn:
Oh, nebber you fear, ifnebber you bear
DE driver blow his horn!
We know de promise nebber fail,
AM nebber lie de word:
So like de postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord;
An now he open cherry door,
An throw away de key;
He tink we lub him so before.
We lub him better free
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
He'll glib de rice an corn;
So, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn
So sing our dusky gondoiers;
And with secret pain,
And smiles that seem akin to tears
We hear the wild refrain.
We dare not share the negroes trust
Nor yet his hopes deny;
We only know that God is just,
And every wrong shall die.
Rude seems the song; each swa1thy face,
Flame-lighted, ruder still;
We start to think that hapess race
Must shape our good or ill;
That laws of changeless justice bind
Oppressor with oppressed;
And close as sin ana suffering Joined,
We march to fate abreast.
Sing on, poor hearts! your chants shall be
Our sign of blight or bloom
The Nala-song OF Liberty,
Or death-Tune of our doom!