Akra the Slave
By the tugging of the thongs,

I sprang into the air,

As down a rocky steep we scrambled;

And strove to burst the galling bonds,

Or hurl my guards on one another;

But, all too sure of foot, the beasts,

And too securely girths and cords

Held me, and I stumbled.

Instantly a thong

Struck my wincing shoulders,

Blow on thudding blow.

I bit my lips; and strode on silently;

Nor fought again for freedom.

So on we journeyed through the night,

And down familiar mountain-tracks,

Through deep, dark forest,

Ever down and down;

Fording the streams, whose moon-bright waters flowed,

In eddies of delicious, aching cool,

About our weary thighs.


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