Page:Poems written during the progress of the abolition question in the United States.djvu/89

 Cloud-like that island hung afar, Along the bright horizon's verge, O'er which the curse of servile war Rolled its red torrent, surge on surge. And he—the Negro champion—where In the fierce tumult, struggled he? Go trace him by the fiery glare Of dwellings in the midnight air— The yells of triumph and despair— The streams that crimson to the sea!

Sleep calmly in thy dungeon-tomb, Beneath Besancon's alien sky, Dark Haytian!—for the time shall come, Yea, even now is nigh — When, every where, thy name shall be Redeemed from color's infamy; And men shall learn to speak of thee, As one of earth's great spirits, born