Fifty years Other Poems | Page 4

Juan Hill)
Under a burning tropic sun,?With comrades around him lying,?A trooper of the sable Tenth?Lay wounded, bleeding, dying.
First in the charge up the fort-crowned hill,?His company's guidon bearing,?He had rushed where the leaden hail fell fast,?Not death nor danger fearing.
He fell in the front where the fight grew fierce,?Still faithful in life's last labor;?Black though his skin, yet his heart as true?As the steel of his blood-stained saber.
And while the battle around him rolled,?Like the roar of a sullen breaker,?He closed his eyes on the bloody scene,?And presented arms to his Maker.
There he lay, without honor or rank,?But, still, in a grim-like beauty;?Despised of men for his humble race,?Yet true, in death, to his duty.
THE BLACK MAMMY
O whitened head entwined in turban gay,?O kind black face, O crude, but tender hand,?O foster-mother in whose arms there lay?The race whose sons are masters of the land!?It was thine arms that sheltered in their fold,?It was thine eyes that followed through the length?Of infant days these sons. In times of old?It was thy breast that nourished them to strength.
So often hast thou to thy bosom pressed?The golden head, the face and brow of snow;?So often has it 'gainst thy broad, dark breast?Lain, set off like a quickened cameo.?Thou simple soul, as cuddling down that babe?With thy sweet croon, so plaintive and so wild,?Came ne'er the thought to thee, swift like a stab,?That it some day might crush thine own black child?
FATHER, FATHER ABRAHAM
(On the Anniversary of Lincoln's Birth)
Father, Father Abraham,?To-day look on us from above;?On us, the offspring of thy faith,?The children of thy Christ-like love.
For that which we have humbly wrought,?Give us to-day thy kindly smile;?Wherein we've failed or fallen short,?Bear with us, Father, yet awhile.
Father, Father Abraham,?To-day we lift our hearts to thee,?Filled with the thought of what great price?Was paid, that we might ransomed be.
To-day we consecrate ourselves?Anew in hand and heart and brain,?To send this judgment down the years:?The ransom was not paid in vain.
BROTHERS
See! There he stands; not brave, but with an air?Of sullen stupor. Mark him well! Is he?Not more like brute than man? Look in his eye!?No light is there; none, save the glint that shines?In the now glaring, and now shifting orbs?Of some wild animal caught in the hunter's trap.
How came this beast in human shape and form??Speak, man!--We call you man because you wear?His shape--How are you thus? Are you not from?That docile, child-like, tender-hearted race?Which we have known three centuries? Not from?That more than faithful race which through three wars?Fed our dear wives and nursed our helpless babes?Without a single breach of trust? Speak out!
I am, and am not.
Then who, why are you?
I am a thing not new, I am as old?As human nature. I am that which lurks,?Ready to spring whenever a bar is loosed;?The ancient trait which fights incessantly?Against restraint, balks at the upward climb;?The weight forever seeking to obey?The law of downward pull;--and I am more:?The bitter fruit am I of planted seed;?The resultant, the inevitable end?Of evil forces and the powers of wrong.
Lessons in degradation, taught and learned,?The memories of cruel sights and deeds,?The pent-up bitterness, the unspent hate?Filtered through fifteen generations have?Sprung up and found in me sporadic life.?In me the muttered curse of dying men,?On me the stain of conquered women, and?Consuming me the fearful fires of lust,?Lit long ago, by other hands than mine.?In me the down-crushed spirit, the hurled-back prayers?Of wretches now long dead,--their dire bequests.--?In me the echo of the stifled cry?Of children for their bartered mothers' breasts.
I claim no race, no race claims me; I am?No more than human dregs; degenerate;?The monstrous offspring of the monster, Sin;?I am--just what I am.... The race that fed?Your wives and nursed your babes would do the same?To-day, but I--
Enough, the brute must die!?Quick! Chain him to that oak! It will resist?The fire much longer than this slender pine.?Now bring the fuel! Pile it 'round him! Wait!?Pile not so fast or high! or we shall lose?The agony and terror in his face.?And now the torch! Good fuel that! the flames?Already leap head-high. Ha! hear that shriek!?And there's another! wilder than the first.?Fetch water! Water! Pour a little on?The fire, lest it should burn too fast. Hold so!?Now let it slowly blaze again. See there!?He squirms! He groans! His eyes bulge wildly out,?Searching around in vain appeal for help!?Another shriek, the last! Watch how the flesh?Grows crisp and hangs till, turned to ash, it sifts?Down through the coils of chain that hold erect?The ghastly frame against the bark-scorched tree.
Stop! to each man no more than one man's share.?You take that bone, and you this tooth; the chain--?Let us divide its links; this skull, of course,?In fair division, to the leader comes.
And now his fiendish crime has been avenged;?Let us back to our wives and children.--Say,?What did he