Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, But the tears ran over lightly from her eyes and tenderly:-- "Dost thou, Bertram, truly love me? Is no woman far above me Found more worthy of thy poet-heart than such a one as _I_?"

IX.

Said he--"I would dream so ever, like the flowing of that river, Flowing ever in a shadow greenly onward to the sea!

So, thou vision of all sweetness, princely to a full completeness Would my heart and life flow onward, deathward, through this dream of THEE!"

X.

Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, While the silver tears ran faster down the blushing of her cheeks; Then with both her hands enfolding both of his, she softly told him, "Bertram, if I say I love thee, ... 't is the vision only speaks."

XI.

Softened, quickened to adore her, on his knee he fell before her, And she whispered low in triumph, "It shall be as I have sworn.

Very rich he is in virtues, very n.o.ble--n.o.ble, certes; And I shall not blush in knowing that men call him lowly born."

_THE RUNAWAY SLAVE AT PILGRIM'S POINT._

I.

I stand on the mark beside the sh.o.r.e Of the first white pilgrim's bended knee, Where exile turned to ancestor, And G.o.d was thanked for liberty.

I have run through the night, my skin is as dark, I bend my knee down on this mark: I look on the sky and the sea.

II.

O pilgrim-souls, I speak to you!

I see you come proud and slow From the land of the spirits pale as dew And round me and round me ye go.

O pilgrims, I have gasped and run All night long from the whips of one Who in your names works sin and woe!

III.

And thus I thought that I would come And kneel here where ye knelt before, And feel your souls around me hum In undertone to the ocean's roar; And lift my black face, my black hand, Here, in your names, to curse this land Ye blessed in freedom's, evermore.

IV.

I am black, I am black, And yet G.o.d made me, they say: But if He did so, smiling back He must have cast his work away Under the feet of his white creatures, With a look of scorn, that the dusky features Might be trodden again to clay.

V.

And yet He has made dark things To be glad and merry as light: There's a little dark bird sits and sings, There's a dark stream ripples out of sight, And the dark frogs chant in the safe mora.s.s, And the sweetest stars are made to pa.s.s O'er the face of the darkest night.

VI.

But _we_ who are dark, we are dark!

Ah G.o.d, we have no stars!

About our souls in care and cark Our blackness shuts like prison-bars: The poor souls crouch so far behind That never a comfort can they find By reaching through the prison-bars.

VII.

Indeed we live beneath the sky, That great smooth Hand of G.o.d stretched out On all His children fatherly, To save them from the dread and doubt Which would be if, from this low place, All opened straight up to His face Into the grand eternity.

VIII.

And still G.o.d's sunshine and His frost, They make us hot, they make us cold, As if we were not black and lost; And the beasts and birds, in wood and fold, Do fear and take us for very men: Could the whip-poor-will or the cat of the glen Look into my eyes and be bold?

IX.

I am black, I am black!

But, once, I laughed in girlish glee, For one of my colour stood in the track Where the drivers drove, and looked at me, And tender and full was the look he gave-- Could a slave look _so_ at another slave?-- I look at the sky and the sea.

X.

And from that hour our spirits grew As free as if unsold, unbought: Oh, strong enough, since we were two, To conquer the world, we thought.

The drivers drove us day by day; We did not mind, we went one way, And no better a freedom sought.

XI.

In the sunny ground between the canes, He said "I love you" as he pa.s.sed; When the shingle-roof rang sharp with the rains, I heard how he vowed it fast: While others shook he smiled in the hut, As he carved me a bowl of the cocoa-nut Through the roar of the hurricanes.

XII.

I sang his name instead of a song, Over and over I sang his name, Upward and downward I drew it along My various notes,--the same, the same!

I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from aught they could hear, It was only a name--a name.

XIII.

I look on the sky and the sea.

We were two to love, and two to pray: Yes, two, O G.o.d, who cried to Thee, Though nothing didst Thou say!

Coldly Thou sat'st behind the sun: And now I cry who am but one, Thou wilt not speak to-day.

XIV.

We were black, we were black, We had no claim to love and bliss, What marvel if each went to wrack?

They wrung my cold hands out of his, They dragged him--where? I crawled to touch His blood's mark in the dust ... not much, Ye pilgrim-souls, though plain as _this_!

XV.

Wrong, followed by a deeper wrong!

Mere grief's too good for such as I: So the white men brought the shame ere long To strangle the sob of my agony.

They would not leave me for my dull Wet eyes!--it was too merciful To let me weep pure tears and die.

XVI.

I am black, I am black!

I wore a child upon my breast, An amulet that hung too slack, And, in my unrest, could not rest: Thus we went moaning, child and mother, One to another, one to another, Until all ended for the best.