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The Slave's Dream.

ESIDE the ungather'd rice he lay,
His sickie in his hand;

His breast was bare, his matted hair
Was buried in the sand;

Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his native land.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams
The lordly Niger* flow'd;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode,
And heard the tinkling caravans
Descend the mountain road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;

They clasp'd his neck, they kiss'd his cheeks,
They held him by the hand:

A tear burst from the sleeper's lids,

And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode

Along the Niger's bank;

His bridle-reins were golden chains,

And, with a martial clank,

At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel

Smiting his stallion's flank.

NIGER-A river in west Africa.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew ;

From morn till night he follow'd their flight,
O'er plains where the tamarind grew,

Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,
And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,
And the hyæna scream,

And the river-horse, as he crush'd the reeds
Beside some hidden stream;

And it pass'd, like a glorious roll of drums,
Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;

And the blast of the desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,
Nor the burning heat of day:

For death had illumined the land of sleep,
And his lifeless body lay

A worn-out fetter, that the soul

Had broken and thrown away!

The Bridge.

STOOD on the Bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance

Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,

And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them, Rose the belated tide,

And, streaming into the moonlight,

The sea-weed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,

A flood of thoughts came o'er me,
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often-Oh how often,

In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight, And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often-Oh how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom, O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me

Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river,

On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odour of brine from the ocean,
Comes the thought of other years.

I

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,

Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,

The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And for ever and for ever,

As long as the river flows,

As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.

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