THE WHITE SLAVES.
217
And love the maid of Carthage or the singing-girl of Spain,
And did she bear him children, wait till his death should be,
And she and they, by Roman Law, were made forever free.
And did she bear him children, wait till his death should be,
And she and they, by Roman Law, were made forever free.
Alas! our later lordlings this partial justice scorn;
Their hapless children find a night that never knows a morn!
Slaves while their sire is living, and slaves when he1sdead;
No law denies the market the proud Caucasian head;
But, hurried to the auction, the youth and maid are sold
To save the lands for legal heirs and fill their palms with gold;
And the ampler is the forehead and the clearer is the skin,
The sharper grows the contest and the louder swells the din.
In Rome the sire's patrician blood release and honor gave,—
With us it only firmer clasps the fetters of the slave.
Their hapless children find a night that never knows a morn!
Slaves while their sire is living, and slaves when he1sdead;
No law denies the market the proud Caucasian head;
But, hurried to the auction, the youth and maid are sold
To save the lands for legal heirs and fill their palms with gold;
And the ampler is the forehead and the clearer is the skin,
The sharper grows the contest and the louder swells the din.
In Rome the sire's patrician blood release and honor gave,—
With us it only firmer clasps the fetters of the slave.
And evermore they cry to us in yearning and despair,
To open Freedom's blessed gate and let them breathe its air!
To open Freedom's blessed gate and let them breathe its air!
