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(Excerpt)
SLEEP calmly in thy dungeon-tomb, | |
| Beneath Besançon’s alien sky, | |
| Dark Haytien! for the time shall come— | |
| Yea, even now is nigh— | |
| When, everywhere, thy name shall be | 5 |
| Redeemed from color’s infamy; | |
| And men shall learn to speak of thee | |
| As one of earth’s great spirits, born | |
| In servitude, and nursed in scorn, | |
| Casting aside the weary weight | 10 |
| And fetters of its low estate, | |
| In that strong majesty of soul | |
| Which knows no color, time, or clime,— | |
| Which still hath spurned the base control | |
| Of tyrants through all time! | 15 |
| Far other hands than mine may wreathe | |
| The laurel round thy brow of death, | |
| And speak thy praise, as one whose word | |
| A thousand fiery spirits stirred,— | |
| Who crushed his foeman as a worm,— | 20 |
| Whose step on human hearts fell firm;— | |
| Be mine the better task to find | |
| A tribute for thy lofty mind, | |
| Amidst whose gloomy vengeance shone | |
| Some milder virtues all thine own,— | 25 |
| Some gleams of feeling pure and warm, | |
| Like sunshine on a sky of storm,— | |
| Proofs that the negro’s heart retains | |
| Some nobleness amidst its chains,— | |
| That kindness to the wronged is never | 30 |
| Without its excellent reward,— | |
| Holy to human-kind, and ever | |
| Acceptable to God. | |
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