Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects (Harper, 1857)/The fugitive's wife
THE FUGITIVE'S WIFE.
It was my sad and weary lot To toil in slavery;But one thing cheered my lowly cot— My husband was with me.
One evening, as our children played Around our cabin door,I noticed on his brow a shade I'd never seen before;
And in his eyes a gloomy night Of anguish and despair;—I gazed upon their troubled light, To read the meaning there.
He strained me to his heaving heart— My own beat wild with fear;I knew not, but I sadly felt There must be evil near,
He vainly strove to cast aside The tears that fell like rain:—Too frail, indeed, is manly pride, To strive with grief and pain.
Again he clasped me to his breast, And said that we must part:I tried to speak—but, oh! it seemed An arrow reached my heart.
"Bear not," I cried, "unto your grave, The yoke you've borne from birth;No longer live a helpless slave, The meanest thing on earth!"