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 tide!

These are the woes of Slaves ;

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

“ We are the Witnesses !”

THE QUADROON GIRL.

The Slaver in the broad lagoon

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

And for the evening gale.

Under the shore his boat was tied,

And all her listless crew Watched the grey alligator slide

Into the still bayou. Odours 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 face 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, raven hair.

And on her lips there played a smile

As holy, meek, and faint,
As lights, 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 grow the maiden'scheek,

Her hands as icy cold,
The Slaver led her from the door,

He led her by the hand,
To be his slave and paramour

In a strange and distant land !

THE WARNING.

BEWARE! The Israelite of old, who tore

The lion in his path-when, poor and blind, He saw the blessed light of heaven no more, Shorn of his noble strength, and forced to

grind In prison, and at last led forth to be A pander to Philistine revelry

Upon the pillars of the temple laid

His desperate hands, and in its overthrow Destroyed himself, and with him those who

made A cruel mockery of his sightless woe; The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all, Expired, and thousands perished in the fall!

There is a poor, blind Samson in this land, Shorn of his strength, and bound in bonds

of steel,