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Poems (Greenwood)/The leap from the long bridge

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Poems
by Grace Greenwood
The leap from the long bridge
4497932Poems — The leap from the long bridgeGrace Greenwood

THE LEAP FROM THE LONG BRIDGE.

AN INCIDENT AT WASHINGTON.


A woman once made her escape from the slave-prison, which stands midway between the Capitol and the President's house, and ran for the Long Bridge, crossing the Potomac to the extensive grounds and woodlands of Arlington Place.


Now rest for the wretched. The long day is past,
And night on yon prison descendeth at last.
Now lock up and bolt.—Ha, jailer! look there!
Who flies like a wild-bird escaped from the snare?
A woman,—a slave! Up! out in pursuit,
  While linger some gleams of the day!
Ho! rally thy hunters, with halloo and shout,
To chase down the game,—and away!

A bold race for freedom!—On, fugitive, on!
Heaven help but the right, and thy freedom is won.
How eager she drinks the free air of the plains!
Every limb, every nerve, every fibre, she strains;
From Columbia's glorious Capitol
  Columbia's daughter flees
To the sanctuary God hath given,
  The sheltering forest-trees.

Now she treads the Long Bridge,—joy lighteth her eye,—
Beyond her the dense wood and darkening sky;
Wild hopes thrill her breast as she neareth the shore,—
O despair!—there are men fast advancing before!
Shame, shame on their manhood!—they hear, they heed,
  The cry her flight to stay,
And, like demon-forms, with their outstretched arms
  They wait to seize their prey!

She pauses, she turns,—ah! will she flee back?
Like wolves her pursuers howl loud on her track;
She lifteth to Heaven one look of despair,
Her anguish breaks forth in one hurried prayer.
Hark, her jailer's yell!—like a bloodhound's bay
  On the low night-wind it sweeps!
Now death, or the chain!—to the stream she turns,
  And; she leaps, O God, she leaps!

The dark, and the cold, yet merciful wave
Receives to its bosom the form of the slave.
She rises,—earth's scenes on her dim vision gleam,
But she struggleth not with the strong, rushing stream,
And low are the death-cries her woman's heart gives
  As she floats adown the river;
Faint and more faint grows her drowning voice,
  And her cries have ceased for ever!

Now back, jailer, back to thy dungeons again,
To swing the red lash and rivet the chain!
The form thou wouldst fetter a valueless clod,
The soul thou wouldst barter returned to her God!
She lifts in His light her unmanacled hands;
  She flees through the darkness no more;
To freedom she leaped through drowning and death,
  And her sorrow and bondage are o'er.