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In dark fens
of the Dismal Swamp
The hunted Negro lay;
He saw
the fire of the midnight camp,
And heard at times a
horse's tramp
And a bloodhound's distant bay.
Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine
In
bulrush and in brake;
Where waving mosses shroud the
pine,
And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine
Is spotted like the snake;
Where hardly a human
foot could pass,
Or a human heart would dare,
On
the quaking turf of the green morass
He crouched in
the rank and tangled grass
Like a wild beast in his
lair.
A poor old slave, infirm and lame;
Great
scars deformed his face;
On his forehead he bore the
brand of shame,
And the rags, that hid his mangled
frame,
Were the livery of disgrace.
All things
above were bright and fair,
All things were glad and
free;
Lithe squirrels darted here and there,
And
wild birds filled the echoing air
With songs of
Liberty!
On him alone was the doom of pain,
From the morning of his birth;
On him alone the curse
of Cain
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain,
And struck him to the earth!
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