The fifty lashes scourged the slave's bare back,

The red blood running down at every stroke,

The dark skin clinging ghastly to the lash.

No moan escaped him at the stinging pain.

[Pg 31]

Tremblingly he stood, and patiently bore all;

His heart indignant, shaking his broad breast,

Strong as the heart that Hippodamia wept,

Which with the cold, intrusive brass thrust through,

Shook even the Greek spear's extremity.

III.

And so the negro's energy, made strong

By the one vile argument of the lash,

Was given to learn the secret of the books.

He studied in the woods, and by the fall

Which shoots down like an arrow from the cliff,

Feathered with spray and barbed with hues of flint.

His books were bits of paper printed on,

Found here and there, brought thither by the wind.

Once standing near the bottom of the fall

 Prev. P 38/151 next