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Rh Her smile, it is the rising moon, The waking of a night in June; Her teeth are tips of white, they gleam Like starlight in a happy dream. Her laughter is a Christmas bell Of “peace on earth and all is well!” Her voice—it is the dearest part Of all the glory in her heart. The height of joy, the deep of tears, The surging passion of the years, The mystery and dark of things, We feel their meanings when she sings. Her thoughts are pure and every one But makes her good to look upon. Daughter of God! you are divine, O, Ebon Maid and Girl of Mine! —Lucian B. Watkins.

I will conclude this section with a very well rhymed tribute to two Negro bards between whom there was a friendship and a correspondence similar to that which existed between Burns and Lapraik. The writer, James Edgar French, was a native of Kentucky, studied for the ministry, and died early:

Dunbar and Cotter! foster-brothers, ye, Nurst at the breast of heav’nly minstrelsy! The first two Negroes who have dared to climb Parnassus’ mount, and carve your names in rhyme;