Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1885-04-20
BARTON. VERMONT, MONDAY.
Gerald.
"a SLAVE POEM
BY DAVID HILL.

[ A SLAVE POEM)
BY DAVID HILL.
O'er Vile Marie the sun is set
Excepting on some spire or hill;
On these as if 10th to forget,
1t sheds latent luster still;
And softly pure its rays are shed
Upon the clear sky overhead.
Such golden beams bathed sky and wood
When Cartier on Mont Real stood,
And from the highest point looked down
On Donnaconnas, Indian town.
But Hochelaga long ago
Turned into dust, and ceased to grow.
While that dark chieftan found grave
Beyond the surging ocean wave.
And now, tonight, the golden beams
OF sunset o'er Mont Real streams,
And bathes with Tyrian shades the sky
Beneath which Vile Marie doth lie.
Such are the changes wrought by Time,
In every place-in every cline.
But not the campfire rude and dim
Or western sky with golden rim,
Or tale of some great Indian chief,
Can furnish Gerald with relief.
The buzz of voices on the street,
The roar and rush of passing feet,
The vesper bells, though soft and clear,
Falls moulnfully upon his ear;
For racked with pain, and pressed for breath,
In Hotel D. he waits for death.
He came-he rapped-he sought admittance;
They asked him not his place, or name;
A Jew or Gentle needing pittance,
1t mattered not from whence he came.
He might have been Turk, or Moor;
A Gipsy from some struggling band;
A Nihilist from Russia's land
1t mattered not if he was poor.
The halt the lame, the God forsaken,
OF any church-of any creed,
Might easily their hearts awaken,
And succor find, if sore in need;
For pity touched by ranking grief,
Without reward will give relief.
aGo bring the priest!" The priest is there;
But what is priest, or cross or prayer,
Or proffered grace, when constant strife
Had long oppressed, and cursed his life
Not yet, not yet would he consent
To words that taught him to repent.
For, in his wrecked and shattered soul,
Which sought, but never found repose,
A troubled streamlet seemed to roll,
And ladened with weight of woes.
Now to relieve that weight he spoke,
And words like these the stiffness broke
"Confessor! strangely cold and still
Will my frail body be at morn;
But who for me will feel a thrill,
Or Ger my lifeless body mourn?
Like some stone statue, old and brown,
From its pedestal tumbled down,
And left in ranking weeds to lie
Unnoticed by each passer by
Even by those who did adore
That same statue long years before.
So in the morning shall sleep
A corpse, o 'er which no eye will weep
But let the funeral rites be said;
Let candles burn at feet and head;
might have died, as dies the wolf,
In some lone wood, or clouded gulf,
Or in some scraggy mountain grot
Where eye of man had seen me not;
But feeling dissolution near,
chose to die-a stranger here.
For, better die unloved-unwept-
Among the haunts of living men.
Then where some Shiny worm has crept
In dismal wood, or mountain den.
Though mere no npS my cHeehS SHAH law,
Ny form, at least will find grave.
1 know to thee my looks betray
A heart as fierce as wild Malay;
But judge me not by outward looks;
For thou hast seen, as well as l,
Some spots where waters tranquil lie,
In iercely surging mountain brooks.
There beats no heart that viii not warm,
And feel at times peaceful calm
The soldier, priest, is gruff but brave;
The sailor wild, who rides the wave;
Stern as the rocks, the mountaineer-
Yet all have loved, and wept tear
And none so gruff, so wild, so fierce,
That love will not their bosom pierce;
And though frown distorts my brow,
And through my eyes fierce glances dart,
That God who calls upon me now
Can read the language of my heart.
may not know a church or creed,
Thy prayers, perchance, sadlyneed;
But He who felt his garments hem
SO softly touched at Bethlehem,
And blind Bartimeus taught to see,
In my distress viii notice me.
And yet, o priest, I curse the day
issued from my mothers womb,
And lived to hear the dreadful doom
Which tore my love of life away.
| Oh, had my life in childhood past,
| That hour 1 breathed-that hour my last!
| Gaze on that hand,nay, take it, priest!
Twill not pollute you in the least;
| Though Scared and scanned, and far from fine
| 1t once was warm and soft as thine.
| Once felt-ifnot mothers press,
AT least, fathers fond caress.
Once clasped hand, 0 God! the thrill
Ofwhich, is in my bosom still.
| Gaze on it now! Is not the hue
Beneath the nails tnge of blue?
| These eyes now blurred and dimmed in sight,
Contains the same shade in the white;
And in the roots of my gray hair
Is found those same marks lurking there.
What mean those stains? Canst thou not guess
| God I learned it once-too soon.
Confessor! pity my distress,
was-I am, an Octoroon.
x r 4 X II
One time dwelt in southern halls,
With slaves to bow at my command;
| Ornate and gay, those mansion walls
Reflected wealth on every hand.
was my fathers only son,
And heir to all his vast estate;
| He loved me as no other one,
And made my life supremely great.
My hounds were large, my steeds were fleet,
My fathers gold was mine to spend;
Alas! what seer in lone retreat
Could prophesy my bitter end
No petted prince of royal line,
Or heir by birth to kingly crown,
Possessed heart as light as mine
Before that heart was scared and brown.
But as some bird that skins along
The wide expanse of heavens blue,
Is robbed life in midst of song,
And falls to earth pierced through and throu.
So my young life so full of mirth,
Was pierced and crushed into the earth.
knew my birth was called obscure;
heard it from the lips of those
Who dared to be my fathers foes
And all from foes are insecure.
As snakes lie coiled within the grass
To dart at those who idly pass,
And leave their venom in the flesh,
And cause old wounds to bleed afresh,
So human snakes oft lie in wait
To sully Truth with poisoned Hate.
So when twas said that guilty stains
Of slavish blood was in my veins,
Ny father in his anger rose,
And hurled defiance at his foes.
Still, that ungainly, ghastly tale,
Would often make my cheeks grow pale
Could it be true? l knew, forsooth,
That rumor seldom misses truth.
Epav alact too we'll knew